


Best of All Possible Universes, or A Little More Than Kin and Less Than Kind

by katiemariie



Series: Kin Verse [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Community: startrekbigbang, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-10
Updated: 2010-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiemariie/pseuds/katiemariie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half way through the five year mission, T'Pring, M'Benga, and Sybok join the crew as engineer, doctor, and counselor/priestess wrangler respectively. Along with the rest of the crew, they "reboot" TOS episodes, like "Arena," "Mirror Mirror," and "The Naked Time." Hilarity ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hand Puppets and Romulan Ale

By year three of its first five year mission, the Enterprise's crew was absolutely, without a doubt completely sick of one another. Scotty wanted to decapitate Keenser. Chekov wanted to "ewiscerate" Sulu. Cupcake wanted to defenestrate the Captain. Spock wanted to operation annihilate McCoy. And, Uhura, well, Uhura had stopped speaking outside of her duties six months ago, declaring in the middle of an argument with Riley in the mess that she was "done" and walked out. She spent most of her free time blowing things up in one of the experimental vacuums.

It was no surprise that everyone was incredibly excited about the new crew members who were to be picked up at the new space dock above Ek'tra, the main Vulcan colony. ("What's 'Ek'tra' mean?" McCoy asked.

"Planet."

"You named your new planet 'planet'? What kind of--"

"Dr. McCoy, if you continue speaking I will be forced to, as Lt. Sulu says, 'cut you.'") It was not so much the outstanding qualifications of the new additions that caused excitement—although, the new officers were experts in their chosen fields—but the prospect of new, less annoying people with new stories ("I swear on th' Enterprise, if ye tell me about yer vacation to Risa one more time, I will kill ye!") and jokes to tell. ("There appears to be large quantities of snoo in this sector."

"Captain, what is 'snoo?'"

"Nothing, Mr. Spock. What's new with you?") The day of the new officers' arrival, the crew assembled in the transporter room, hoping to get first look at their new friends. In fact, some particularly pathetic individuals camped out in the transporter room the night before. As the crewmen materialized on the transporter pads, an audible gasp echoed throughout the room. These were the truly the most beautiful beings in the universe... at least until next shore leave.

On the left most pad stood Lt. T'Pring, Vulcan Science Academy class of 2257, in a shapely Vulcan gown and with her hair in tight braided bun. T'Pring was an expert in engineering. She had recently invented a gamma ray subshield that activated when a ship's main shields fell in combat, allowing starships to go up to warp 4 without melting from the Doppler effect.

On the right most pad stood Dr. Geoffrey M'Benga, Vulcan Science Academy class of 2258, in a tailored suit with a jaunty hat. Dr. M'Benga was an expert in xenobiology with a speciality in Vulcanoids. He had recently isolated the gene that coded for Bendii Syndrome and cured 746 elderly Vulcans suffering from the disease.

On the center stood Counselor Sybok in a long, flowing robe the color of electrically charged helium with his black hair draped around his shoulders. Counselor Sybok was an expert in something. No one, least of all the Captain, knew what. The Counselor's records had the second highest security clearance anyone had seen on the Enterprise. (Ensign Keenser, for reasons that remain unknown, had the highest. His folder could only be opened by access codes from both the Federation president and the Klingon chancellor, and their memories were manipulated so that they could only remember the access code at the destruction of a planet.) No one was exactly certain what Sybok's job was on the Enterprise. When asked, the Admiralty mumbled something about "conflict resolution," "high priestesses," and "win-win-win situations."

All three declined invitations to go out for drinks or get a tour of the ship, choosing to retreat to their quarters and meditate. As soon they left the room, the rumor mill begin to churn.

"T'Pring's hair is insured for ten thousand credits."

False. Her shoe collection is insured for ten thousand credits.

"M'Benga is Marvin Gaye's great-great-great-grandson."

No. However, M'Benga is the great-great-great-grandson of Smokey Robinson's tailor.

"Sybok is the love child of a Romulan priestess and a Betazoid ambassador."

Close but no cigar. Sybok is the love child of a Vulcan priestess and a Vulcan ambassador. This myth would not be dispelled until much later.

"I hear they all once had sex. With each other. At the same time."

Okay, this one is true. Five years prior to their enlistment in Starfleet, a group of VSA students including T'Pring and M'Benga went on spring break to the same planet where Sybok was writing his dissertation on transcendental meditation in an urban environment. They all visited the Kantiki Bar on the first annual five credit Double Dirty Chocolate Orgasm (now made with real Romulan Ale!) Night—which, by the way, was a tremendous success despite the inordinately long name. Drinks were served. Names were forgotten. Clothes were removed. Overall, it was a very normal encounter for VSA students on the town. T'Pring and M'Benga would have forgotten the incident entirely if it weren't the discharge and pain upon urination that followed.

–

The following day at alpha shift lunch all eyes were on Spock. Why wasn't he sitting with the new guys? One of them was Vulcan. When asked, Spock replied that he hasn't "conversed with Lt. T'Pring since the divorce was finalized." When asked, T'Pring replied that Spock hasn't talked to her since he was "made aware of my dalliance with his grandmother." This did nothing to silence the rumor mill.

–

"Fuck, marry, kill."

"Sybok. M'Benga. T'Pring."

"You can't kill a Vulcan! There's like five of them left."

"Well, I can't fuck her because Commander Spock would kill me and I can't marry her because she might try to do my grandma."

–

Dr. McCoy was, as usual, not impressed by the new staff. They were all a bunch of weirdos if you asked him.

T'Pring, for instance, only ate certain color foods on certain days. Monday was green. Tuesday was yellow. Wednesday was red, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

M'Benga was a professionally trained mime. Shit you not, the guy was a fucking mime.

McCoy didn't see a lot of Sybok initially as the guy spent all of his time holed up in his cabin/workspace. But he did see the people who came out of there from conflict resolution counseling. On one notable occasion, he walked by to see Jim and Cupcake sobbing in each other's arms. In true Jim Kirk fashion, they started sleeping together shortly thereafter. It was weird watching "Cupcake" go from an epithet to a term of endearment but McCoy had no objections to having another person to help with Kirk's emotional needs and various moral crises. It was beginning to turn into a second shift.

He only really got a good look at the guy when he was called in for a counseling appointment with Spock.

When he arrived at Sybok's cabin, the door opened half a second before his finger would have hit the bell.

"Come in! Make yourself comfortable," Sybok called from behind the door of an adjacent room. "I'm just making tea."

McCoy surveyed the Counselor's quarters. They were the VIP style with a large den, a bedroom, a kitchen, and a private bath. The den looked like your standard therapist's office: a couch, two overstuffed chairs, a coffee table with a small fountain on top—you know, the kind with water cascading over rocks that you can't resist touching. McCoy's finger was about the poke the stream when Sybok called from the kitchen, "Please don't touch that. The water was blessed by the Denuvian high priestess." The Counselor came out carrying a tray with a kettle and a jug of sweet tea. "Take a seat." He placed the tray on the coffee table then sat on the floor. "Would you like a--" He grimaced and the door opened.

McCoy turned to see Spock in the doorway. "You're late."

Spock sat on the opposite side of the couch from McCoy. "My duties on the bridge precede any extraneous commitments."

"Hey, I'm not exactly twiddling my thumbs down in sickbay but I got here on time."

"You are taking my tardiness as a personal insult when it is obviously not one."

"Is it, Mr. Spock?" Sybok asked. "Being late to appointments is often a passive aggressive way to show the other parties that your time is more important than theirs."

"Despite his rampant emotionalism, Dr. McCoy's time is spent as efficiently as mine. I believe our time would be better spent at work rather than in workshops."

"Starfleet Command would beg to differ, Commander. They've read about the hostility between the two of you in official reports and personal logs."

"Wait, Starfleet Command has been reading our personal logs? They can't do that!"

"On the contrary, due to initiatives passed in the aftermath of the Narada incident, Starfleet command has access to any and all logs made by personnel. They've been listening and they haven't liked what they've been hearing. Hence this meeting. I've looked at your files and considered what would be the best approach and I think I've come up with a solution," Sybok said. From a side table, he pulled two hand puppets—both wearing blue shirts but one with pointy ears and black hair and one with round ears and brown hair.

"You're joking, right?"

"No. I'm afraid not." He handed the Vulcan puppet to Spock and the human puppet to McCoy. "Put those on."

"This is ridiculous."

"I fail to see what this will accomplish."

"It will accomplish you getting out of here in a reasonable amount of time."

Spock and McCoy begrudgingly put on the hand puppets.

"Now, Dr. Puppet, I want you tell Commander Puppet how you feel when he doesn't react emotionally to situations that you believe call for it."

"Well... I feel like he's an emotionally repressed bastard--"

"Woah, woah, Dr. Puppet. How does it make _you_ feel when Commander Puppet doesn't have an emotional reaction?"

"Angry. It makes me feel angry."

"Good, good. Commander Puppet, how do you feel when Dr. McCoy gets angry when you don't react emotionally?"

"I do not feel. I am a Vulcan."

"No, you're a puppet. And it's okay for puppets to have feelings."

"I feel angry."

"Good. That's very, very good, Commander Puppet. Why do you feel angry?"

"I feel angry because Dr. McCoy--

"Dr. Puppet."

"Dr. Puppet assumes that the only way to experience emotion is through demonstration. I feel as if he does not understand other species of puppets and is racist."

"Wait a second! I am not racist!"

"Let's calm down, Dr. Puppet. Everyone's a little bit racist. We just have to recognize our prejudices and try to correct them. Dr. Puppet, do you believe puppets of different species, like Commander Puppet, should have emotions just like puppets of your species?"

"...yes."

"Good. It's very good that you can admit this. I'd like the two of you to make a pact saying that you won't judge puppets of other species on the same set of principles you would judge puppets of your own species, that you will recognize the diversity of sentient puppet experiences, and that you will attempt to better understand one another. Do you guys agree?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Good. You can take off those off, now."

–

McCoy met with Uhura once a month to bitch about the other crew members, but their first meeting after the new officers arrived, Uhura wasn't in the mood for sniping. "The socio-political implications are troublesome. Frankly, I don't think I have a leg to stand on... Is that ableist?" She shook her head and sighed. "If I proceed as I normally would, I risk appearing, at best, culturally illiterate, or, at worst, unsympathetic to the plight of a displaced people. No matter how I approach this, I will place myself in opposition to the most powerful family in the history of the species."

"Uhura," McCoy put down his fork. "You're asking a girl out for dinner; not negotiating a peace treaty."

"You fail to realize how tenuous a position I occupy—not only politically, but professionally. I cannot afford to anger T'Pau any more than I already have."

"What did you do to T'Pau?"

"Have you been sleeping for the past three years? I dated her grandson, to her intense disapproval. Then, I ended things with him, which has made me the villain to not only T'Pau, but the entirety of the Federation—proving that one cannot dump a war hero, even if he has been lying about his marital status for two years, and still won't go further than first base. _I have needs, McCoy._ "

"Go for it, then."

"I can't. Not without looking like some intergalactic trollop with designs on the remaining Vulcan population. And, it's hardly my place as a Human to claim the reproductive capabilities of a nearly extinct species."

"You didn't seem so worried about this when you were frenching Spock on a transporter pad."

"That's different. Spock's testes aren't communal property." She grimaced slightly. "Even by saying that, I'm tacitly upholding the construction."

"And by fretting about what Vulcan high society thinks, aren't you doing the same thing?"

"Yes. But I'm not Vulcan; I'm not the one who gets to tear those constructions down."

"You wanna know what I think?"

"What's the point in asking? If I say no, you'll tell me anyway."

"I think you need to stop treating T'Pring like she's a diplomatic emergency, and start treating her like she's a person."

"In our culture, person means Human, and she's not Human. I have to be cognizant of our cultural differences."

"You can do that without making her into a symbol."

"Goddamnit," she muttered. "I've been treating her as if she lacks agency. I've completely denied her subjectivity." She stood up from the table. "I'm going to talk to her. You don't mind?"

"No, go ahead."

"Thanks. We'll tale more later." She turned from the table, only to turn back a moment later. "Do you know where I can get a goat?"

"A goat?"

"Yeah. Vulcan tradition states the prospective suitor of a divorced woman has to give the woman's ex-husband a cloven-hoofed animal. It's a type of alimony."

"Can you tell me what kind of terrible crime I committed to be stuck in a world where you giving Spock a goat in exchange for his ex-wife is reasonable?"

–

The crew got their first indication as to why Sybok was assigned to the Enterprise when the captain had one of his infamous run-ins with priestesses on an away mission. He said something about green being his favorite color and, next thing he knew, he was being tied up to have be a spiritual sacrifice.

"Wi well druw thi leef issince ut uf hem," the high priestess explained on the view screen of the main bridge.

Acting captain Spock called the senior officers into the conference room to deliberate a method to extract their captain. "Does anyone have any ideas?"

Cupcake raised his hand. "We shoot them and take the captain."

"Does anyone have any other ideas?"

"We shoot them and take the captain!"

"Thank you. We all heard you the first time."

"I don't think you did. Cause if you did, we'd be down there _shooting them and taking the captain_."

"Lieutenant, if you will not cease acting as the captain's paramour, and assume your official title of chief security officer, I will have you declared un—"

"Commander Spock," Lt. Riley said over the comm system. "Captain Kirk and Counselor Sybok have safely beamed aboard."

Later, in the transporter room, as Cupcake and Bones looked Kirk over for any injuries, Commander Spock questioned Counselor Sybok on his unsanctioned rescue mission. "How did you get down to the planet?"

"I beamed down."

"It was not recorded in the ship's logs."

"How about that? Maybe you should get Mr. Scott to check those."

"Who did you trick into beaming you down and altering the logs?"

"No one."

"Then how did you--"

"I think you have pretty good idea how, Commander. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment in a few minutes."

"How the hell did he get you out of there?" McCoy asked, scanning Kirk with a medical tricorder.

"He just went in and explained to them that I wasn't the fifth incarnation of their Plant God and they let me go. And, to think," Kirk turned to Cupcake, "you were gonna shoot them."

"Gonna? I still might."

–

Spock's eyes almost bulged out of his head when he saw T'Pring and Uhura holding hands in the galley. Were none of the women in his life safe? His new companion, Julius the goat, was of little comfort.

–

Sybok's first demonstration of power onboard was the institution of game night. His second was the monthly themed dance party. His third was the book club. His fourth was robot wars. And his fifth was the talent show. All this fostering of togetherness truly marked him as some sort of evil genius in McCoy's mind. The doctor wasn't officially required to attend any of these activities, but he was socially obligated to go to the talent show because Geoff was doing whatever the hell he spent two years at mime school learning. At least, he hoped, it would be funny.

Turned out, no, it was not funny. Geoff M'Benga was not a comic mime but a corporeal mime, meaning he did really weird shit with his body and various props for half an hour that somehow constituted as a story.

McCoy and the rest of the audience sat there in silence, wondering when this would be over. It had to end, right? It couldn't go on for forever? Someone would stop him eventually? But it went on. And the only person who seemed to be enjoying it at all was Spock, who appeared transfixed by the intricacies of the storytelling. Fucking weirdo.

At the end, the audience clapped not out of appreciation but out of intense relief.

Sybok made a ten minute time limit for the acts at the next talent show.

–

Cupcake swirled the ice around in his glass. This bar was lame. This planet was lame. This shore leave was lame. He should have stayed on board until Jim was able to beam down. But he sat at the bar, watching all of his crew mates have fun. Sometimes being the captain's boyfriend was lame.

"Hey," Sybok said, taking a seat next to Cupcake at the bar.

"Hey."

And that was all that was said for the next hour. He was about to comm Jim and bitch at him for being late when this Vulcan came up to the Counselor and spit in his face then just walked away. Finally, some excitement.

"Hey!" Cupcake called out, rising from his barstool. "You gonna apologize for that?"

The Vulcan turned. "I do not apologize to traitors."

"That traitor is a Starfleet officer. Show some fucking respect."

"I was unaware that Starfleet was recruiting troglodytes."

"Excuse me?"

"Lieutenant," Sybok pleaded, "just leave it alone. I am fine."

"No. I'm not gonna let this asshole speak to you like that."

Long story short: Sybok ended up dragging a bloodied (red and green) Cupcake to sickbay.

"What the hell happened?" McCoy asked.

"Bar fight," Cupcake answered, spitting out a tooth. "Vulcan. I had him though."

Sybok shook his head.

"No, I had him. I would've had him in a choke hold if you hadn't knocked him out."

"If you need to tell yourself that..."

–

McCoy came back from lunch to find Geoff and Spock in exam one, rubbing their fingers together and smiling with their eyes. He did not want to know what that meant.

–

Starfleet sure chose one hell of a time to send Geoff off to Ek'tra to test the Vulcan colonists for Bendii. The one time they have a major Vulcan diplomat on board about to keel over and Geoff was off the ship.

Sarek didn't have the decency to pass out when they were still near the colony. No, he had to wait until they were halfway to Babel.

The problem was the blood. Sarek had an extremely rare blood type that, after the destruction of Vulcan, only flowed through the veins of his relatives. Spock was more than willing to donate the blood necessary for Sarek's heart surgery, but it still wasn't enough, and they were years from developing a blood stimulant for Vulcans. McCoy was about to throw in the towel when Sybok walked into his office, eyes red and clothes rumpled. "I'm a match."

The doctor put down his PADD. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

McCoy drew the counselor's blood in silence.

Before he left, Sybok pleaded, "Don't tell him it was me, okay?"

"Okay. I won't."

McCoy visited Sybok's cabin after the surgery. As usual, the door opened without him buzzing in. Sybok sat on his therapy couch, drinking a glass of Romulan Ale.

"The surgery was a success."

"Good."

McCoy took a seat across from him. "Why didn't you tell anyone you were Vulcan?"

"I didn't foresee a positive reaction. People have expectations of what a Vulcan should be and I don't fulfill those expectations. Non-humans get enough shit in Starfleet as it is."

"Listen, the stuff I say to Spock..."

"It's not just that. Humans get the best jobs and faster promotions. Look at Kirk, he was a cadet who went straight to captain while Spock... All the equipment, the temperature settings, the uniforms are made for humans. Non-humans are rarely in landing parties. The entire system is biased."

"Then why are you here?"

"I didn't have anywhere else to go."

McCoy let the words hang in the air for a minute before moving on to his next question. "So, Ambassador Sarek... Is he your cousin or something?"

Sybok chuckled and took a swig of his Ale. "Sarek is my father."

"Oh."

"He had an affair with my mother shortly before he married Lady Amanda."

"That makes Spock your half-brother."

"Yes, doctor. That is how genetics works."

"I take it you two aren't close."

"He hates me. They all hate me."

"How many of those have you had?" McCoy picked up the bottle from the coffee table. It was empty. "Tell me that wasn't full."

"Good Vulcans don't lie."

"I'm taking you to sickbay."

"No. I'm fine. I just need to take a nap."

"No. You need to go to sickbay. Come on."

"I don't want him to see me like this."

"Sarek's asleep. He'll never know you were there."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay."

–

Sybok left his quarters even less after Babel. McCoy was too busy to notice that anything was wrong until Christine told him that the Counselor wasn't eating the food she brought to his cabin. M'Benga was still on Ek'tra, so McCoy was the one to check in on the Counselor.

The door didn't open for him, not even after he buzzed half a dozen times. He used his medical override to get in, and, when the door opened, he saw Sybok sitting on the floor in a meditation pose. And, maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, McCoy coulda swore that the Counselor was _hovering_ a few inches off the ground.

"What?" Sybok growled, and it looked like he floated back to the ground.

"I came to check on you."

Sybok's eyes opened. "I'm fine."

"Nurse Chapel says you haven't been eating."

"Vulcans can go without food much longer than Humans."

"I know. But I checked your bioreadings. Your hormone levels are elevated."

"You're not my doctor."

"Your doctor's a little too busy climbing up invisible ropes on Ek'tra to make a house call."

"Your concern is touching, doctor."

"Just let me take a few readings then I'll get out of your hair." McCoy pulled out his medical tricorder only to have fly out of his hand and smash against the bulkhead. "Good god, was that you?"

Sybok looked absolutely humiliated. "I'm sorry. That wasn't supposed to happen. Please, just leave."

"Not until you tell me what's going on with you."

Sybok stood and took a seat on the couch. "Please, sit." McCoy sat down in Sybok's arm chair. "There's not a word for it in Standard. The closest I can get is second puberty. Vulcans reach physical sexual maturity around the same time as Humans, but they aren't mentally prepared for full bonding until their mid-thirties. The heightened degree of neotony in Vulcans delays the completion of brain development until this age. Shortly before reaching maturity, Vulcans experience a growth spurt in their mental faculties."

"They get smarter."

"Yes, but it's not that simple. We can store just as much information as before and process it just as quickly. Our ability to make connections between data increases. And we better understand consequences and the experiences of others. We can more readily empathize. Our psionic abilities experience a jump, as well."

"Hence my broken tricorder."

"Yeah. For most, it's not that pronounced. At worst, the average Vulcan overhears wisps of the emotions of others until they can acclimate."

"But not you."

"No, I'm... different. The bulkheads and deck of my cabin contain a very powerful psionic inhibitor. If I were to leave before I've acclimated to my new abilities, it would be very bad for me and everyone aboard the Enterprise."

"It couldn't be that bad. I've been in here for five minutes and nothing's happened."

A tinge of green appeared on Sybok's cheeks. "Your mind is compatible with mine."

"What's that mean?"

"Well, traditionally, it would mean that you would ask my clan matriarch for my hand and petition the clergy for the right to marry me... but seeing as I've been disinherited and excommunicated, and I'm not very traditional to begin with, it means whatever we want."

"Are you hitting on me?"

"No. If I were hitting on you, I would tell you about the two years I spent in Varanasi studying tantra. If I were hitting on you."

"You can tell me about it when we have dinner tomorrow night."

–

"Show off," McCoy grumbled after Sybok levitated a bottle of wine from across the room.

"If I wanted to show off, doctor, I would show you one of the traditional dances I learned in nursery school."

"I never pictured Vulcans as dancers."

"We're quite good, actually. I've been told we rival the Orions."

"So, what else can you do, besides the dancing?

"Cook, clean, leap buildings in a single bound..."

"Evade questions with practiced ease."

"I forgot you had this job before I did. Well, let's see, I surf, I read a lot... I do like to cook. That part wasn't bullshit. I make my own clothes. And, then, for a little while, I stopped wearing clothes altogether. I took a vow a silence. I had forsaken all material possessions, until I bought them all back. I tried to get into throw pottery but I sucked at it. What do you do?"

"Medicine."

Sybok laughed. "How'd you get into that?"

"It never seemed like I was good at anything else... My dad was a doctor."

"He must be proud. You being CMO on the Federation flagship."

"He's dead."

"I'm sorr--" Sybok's eyes fluttered, and he doubled over in his chair.

"What's wrong?" McCoy rushed to his side.

"I'm fine. I just-- That happens sometimes."

"What?"

"I... When people think about a particularly painful memory—people near me—I, uh, overhear it."

McCoy backed away. "What are you saying?"

"I know what you did for your father."

"What I did for him?" McCoy shouted. "It wasn't a favor, counselor!"

"Don't. I... I could make you feel better. Absolve you of your guilt. There's an ancient Vulcan ritual that is well within my power to perform. I've never wanted to do it so badly as I do right now. It would be counterfeit. I know—I know better than anyone that absolution has to come from within. You're a good person, Leonard. Try to forgive yourself."

McCoy eyed the door. "I, uh..."

"Don't leave. We haven't even had dessert. I made peach cobbler."

McCoy chuckled humorlessly. "You really know the way to a man's heart."

"Bad memories and pastries. That's textbook."

–

They didn't start sleeping together until they had been seeing each other for three months. McCoy generally waited a while—he was a gentleman after all. Sybok not so much. But, despite his second puberty, the Vulcan was patient, resigning himself to sharing his bed only with his prodigious collection of sex toys.

When McCoy told Sybok he was ready to take their relationship to the next level, the counselor looked him straight in the eyes and said, "I am going to give you many orgasms."

McCoy interpreted that to mean over the course of their relationship, not that evening.

"Fuck! How are you doing that?"

"I spent a year studying under the head sex priestess on Angel I."

"Jesus Christ! I'm coming, I'm coming. I love you, I love you."

"I love you, too. I love you so fucking much."

The next day, McCoy was sore in muscles he never studied in med school. It was worth it. It was so worth it.

–

They didn't meld until they were together for four months. McCoy was reticent to open his mind up to that much scrutiny, despite his certainty that Sybok could read a person's brain like a book just by looking at them. But he consented after Sybok explained that sex without a mind meld was just fucking and sex with it was making love, as cheesy as that sounded. McCoy was a gentleman, after all, and gentlemen didn't go around fucking people.

–

Believe it or not, the first time they had a date outside of Sybok's room was six months into the relationship. Sybok's quarters were convenient. They offered privacy, psionic shielding, and a sex swing.

Their first public date was a catastrophe, going down in history as the worst taco night aboard the Enterprise. (That is, until Kyle's homemade guacamole gave half the crew food poisoning.)

Initially, despite their hatred of mobs of people, McCoy and Sybok were having a pretty good time. "We should do this again in the future," the doctor said over the mariachi band.

Sybok smiled, then he was being tackled by 140 pounds of Vulcan female. "T'Pring!"

She looked mad with lust, tearing off Sybok's clothes. "Mine."

"Baby, what are you doing?" Uhura cried.

"Leonard! Get her off me!"

McCoy's advanced toward the crazed woman, a hypospray drawn from nowhere when Spock joined the fray, throwing T'Pring off of Sybok.

"Thanks, Spock. I don't know--" Sybok was cut off by Spock's fist colliding with his jaw.

The crew watched wordlessly as Spock pummeled Sybok, while T'Pring made noises like a cheetah in heat. No one was quite sure what this meant and whether it would be culturally insensitive to stop the proceedings.

"Fuck it," Cupcake mumbled, putting down his trombone and taking off his sombrero. He walked over to the scrabbling brothers and kicked Spock soundly on the lower back. The Vulcan rolled into the fetal position, mewling like a newborn kitten.

"Thank you," Sybok said to Cupcake, but with the amount of blood pouring of his mouth it sounded more like gargling.

"No problem."

"Hey, guys," M'Benga entered the mess. "How's—What the fuck?"

–

"What did you do?" Kirk demanded.

Sybok pointed to his mouth, which was currently being operated on by Dr. Sanchez. Nurse Chapel handed him a PADD. " _I didn't do anything,_ " Sybok wrote.

"You musta done something to set them off."

" _I was just eating a taco!_ "

"Could it have been one of your voodoo mind powers?"

" _I DO NOT HAVE VOODOO MIND POWERS._ "

"You don't have go all capslock on me."

" _I GET SEXUALLY HARASSED AND BEATEN, AND YOU'RE ASKING ME WHAT I DID?_ "

"He has a point, captain," Chapel said. "This all seems very 20th century blame the victim."

Kirk sighed. "I'm sorry. I keep hitting dead ends on this. Spock and T'Pring have both completely shut down, not talking to anybody. Not even M'Benga or Uhura."

" _I might have an idea,_ " Sybok wrote.

–

"Now, um, Lt.... Puppet?" Kirk looked back at Sybok for reassurance. The Vulcan nodded. "Why did you attack Counselor Puppet?"

T'Pring rolled her eyes. "This is absurd."

"Lt. Puppet, I am ordering you answer the question. Why did you attack Counselor Puppet?"

"I do not know."

"Do you have feelings for Counselor Puppet?"

"Beyond mild irritation, no."

"Mild irritation?"

"He gave me chlamydia."

"Oh... okay."

Sybok wrote on his PADD, " _That's impossible. I've never_ —" Realization dawned on Sybok. " _That was you?_ "

"Yes. Dr. M'Benga, as well."

The captain cleared his throat. "Let's talk through what happened."

"I was in the mess, eating a burrito with Nyota."

"Then?"

"I smelled a very strong and very sweet odor. At first, I thought it was the jamaica tea but then I noticed it was coming from Counselor Puppet. What happened next was very confusing. I have no frame of reference to which I can compare it. I wanted Counselor Puppet and there was nothing holding me back from taking him."

–

"Commander Puppet—"

"I refuse to participate in this charade, and I demand that Counselor Sybok be placed in the brig."

" _For what?_ " Sybok wrote.

Spock ignored the counselor, addressing the captain. "He is constantly out of uniform, has no regard for the prime directive, and has failed every drug test I have administered."

"We've been through this, Commander. He has special clearance from Starfleet—"

"I doubt his clearance from Starfleet covers the mental assault of another officer."

"What are you saying?"

"Counselor Sybok manipulated the minds of Lt. T'Pring and myself so that we would attack him."

" _That's bullshit,_ " Sybok typed.

"At the very least, it's illogical. Why would he force you to beat the shit out of him?"

"Sybok is mentally unstable."

" _Fuck you!_ " Sybok pounded out on the PADD. " _Just because I've got the ridges to admit I have emotions doesn't make me crazy!_ "

"He purposefully manipulated my mind to make it appear as if I had emotions, furthering his political agenda."

" _If I wanted to make you display emotion,_ " Sybok wrote, " _I would just tell you I fucked your ex-wife and your current boyfriend._ "

Spock snatched the PADD out of Sybok's hand and threw it against the wall. "Your promiscuity is of little surprise to me, considering your parentage."

Unable to say anything or get out of bed, Sybok levitated the smashed PADD into Spock's face, over and over again.

By the time Kirk realized what was happening, Spock was already bleeding. "Counselor, that's enough!" he yelled. The PADD dropped to the floor. "Spock, get M'Benga to patch you up. Now." After Spock left, Kirk turned to Sybok. "What are you?"

Sybok pointed to his mouth again, then grabbed the captain's wrist. //I'm nothing.//

Kirk flinched away. "What the hell?"

//I'm a Vulcan who just happens to be very good at this sort of thing.//

"Vulcans don't move stuff with their minds!"

//It is true that the general Vulcan populace does not have telekinetic ability. However, there are some psionically gifted Vulcans that do.//

"Does Bones know about this?"

//Yes. It's a gift I do not hesitate to use in bed.//

"That is more information than I've ever wanted to know... Does Starfleet know?"

//About my sex life? Probably.//

"Know that you're a Vulcan wizard?"

//How do you think I got this job?//

–

"How ya doin'?" McCoy asked, walking into Sybok's quarters. The Counselor was currently laid up on his therapy couch under several layers of blankets, watching a holovid.

"Shitty," he replied. "Dr. Sanchez convinced me that I should get my wisdom teeth removed now, because I wouldn't feel any extra pain. I'm beginning to suspect he wasn't being completely truthful."

"Need me to get you anything?"

"No. C'you c'mere and cuddle with me?"

"Sure." McCoy kicked off his boots, stripped down to his boxers and black undershirt, and sat behind Sybok. The Vulcan sat himself between McCoy's legs and rested his head on the Doctor's chest. "Me and Cupcake's sweep came back negative. There were no outside contaminants from the ventilation system. So, whatever did this came from inside the room."

"Didju check the food?"

"The food, people's clothes, perfumes, everything in that room. All came back negative. Whatever it was had to dissipate pretty quickly because we couldn't find a trace of anything out of the ordinary in the room's atmosphere or coming off of you."

"You still believe me, though?"

"Of course. You've stopped having trouble controlling your abilities months ago. Even if it was that, as Vulcans, T'Pring and Spock would be the least likely of anyone there to be affected. We'll figure this out, okay?" McCoy pressed a kiss on Sybok's forehead.

"I hate being locked in here, like I'm some criminal. Everyone already assumes it's my fault. Did you see how Uhura looked at me?"

"Well, you did sleep with her girlfriend."

"Did everybody know about that except for me?"

"Nyota told me at one of our lunches. She wanted to make sure I knew what I was getting into."

"Did she tell it was a threesome with Dr. M'Benga?"

"Mime Benga, really?"

"In my defense, I was extremely intoxicated and I did not know he was a mime."

"What? He didn't use any of his mime moves in the sack?"

Sybok laughed, then grabbed his jaw in pain. "Fuck."

"'m sorry. Let me kiss it better." McCoy dropped a light kiss on Sybok's jaw.

"You're a kumquat, Leonard."

"You're still not pronouncing that right."

"Lee-oh-nard."

"Len-erd."

"Lay-naired?"

"How many languages do you speak again?"

"At least I try to say your name."

"My name isn't ridiculous."

"Mime Benga could say it."

"You mean Joff-ree?"

"Shut up, I do not have an--" There was a creaking noise above their heads. "D'you hear that?"

"Yeah. It's probably just someone from Engineering."

"They usually send out a memo when they're doing maintenance in the Jefferies tubes."

"That's how you say it."

"Say what?"

"Geoffrey. M'Benga's first name. It's just like in Jefferies tube."

"That doesn't make any sense. They're spelled—f" There was a crashing noise across the room. "What the hell was that?" Sybok turned to see, for the second time that day, T'Pring charging at him.

"Mine!"

"No. I am decidedly not yours."

T'Pring glared at McCoy, who was attempting to shield his boyfriend from invading forces. "I take."

"No, you don't take," McCoy said, his right hand fumbling in his pocket for a hypospray.

T'Pring raised her hand to McCoy, and was about to smack him, when Sybok grabbed her wrist. "He," he pointed to the doctor, "mine. You touch. I kill. Understand?"

Apparently not. "Want you sperms."

"No. No! Chlamydia, remember? Burning. Bad. I have bad sperms. Illogical sperms."

T'Pring shrugged. "Not much sperms to choose from."

"What about Spock? He has lots of sperms. Better sperms. Much better than mine."

"Spock no smell like sperms."

Sybok turned to McCoy. "You're right. I should have taken a shower afterwards."

"Give me you sperms."

"No. Those are his sperms now. You had your chance."

T'Pring growled, launching herself at McCoy. "He sperms mine."

Sybok hauled T'Pring off of his boyfriend, nerve pinched her as he dragged her toward the door. He opened the door, trying to push T'Pring out, but Spock blocked his way. "She mine."

"Shit! Leonard, lock yourself in my bedroom and comm for help."

"I'm not leaving you!"

"Go! I can't protect you while Spock is--" Spock's fist cut him off again. Sybok dropped T'Pring when his hands flew to his mouth to slow the blood flow.

"You hurt me female." Spock slapped Sybok across his face, then sunk to the floor.

"You hurt me male," McCoy growled, putting away his hypo.

–

" _Fuck you, Kirk,_ " Sybok wrote on the transparent wall of his air-tight containment cell.

"This is just until we figure out what's going on."

" _And your family, your friends, and the Federation horse you rode in on._ "

"This is for your own protection."

" _I will not be caged like an animal at one of your archaic Terran zoos. THIS IS NOT THE LOUISIANA PURCHASE EXPOSITION._ "

"You're being a tad overdramatic, don't you think? Spock and T'Pring aren't throwing a fit."

" _That's because you drugged them!_ "

"Well, there's that."

–

"What's the news?" Kirk asked, walking into sickbay. "Anything?"

M'Benga and McCoy shook their heads.

"Well, get to it. We've got quite a mystery on our hands. And, I hate mysteries. They give me a bellyache."

"That's probably just acid reflex," M'Benga said, looking up from his terminal. "You know, from stress."

"I didn't mean literally."

"Well, I'll be sure to resolve this situation in order to alleviate your figurative indigestion." M'Benga picked up a slide, and walked out of the room.

"What's his deal?" Kirk asked McCoy.

"Don't mind him. He's a little freaked out about Spock turning into a Vulcan caveman over T'Pring."

"I'm beginning to see why Starfleet frowns on fraternization."

McCoy raised an eyebrow.

"Daniel and I are not fraternizing. We are deeply involved."

"Daniel?"

"Shut it, Bones. At least I can say my boyfriend's name."

–

"Hey." Geoff placed his right hand on the transparent wall of Spock's containment cell.

"Geoffrey." Spock mirrored him.

"How are you?"

"I am well."

"Good."

"Are you well?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"You are in distress."

"This whole situation constitutes as a medical emergency so..."

"Geoffrey, you must know you are the only one for whom I hold affection."

"I know. But is that enough?"

"It was enough for my parents. And it is enough for me."

"I'm going to figure out what's doing this to you. Do you have any ideas?"

"I have given it some thought. Before Counselor Sybok joined our crew, Mr. Scott had to install psionic shields in the bulkheads of Sybok's cabin. I tested them myself. They are effective. So it stands to reason that this was not a psionic manipulation of Sybok's creation, as he was in his cabin when the second event occurred."

"Thanks. That helps a lot. Page me if you think of anything else."

"Of course, t'hy'la.... If you have time, could you please feed Julius? I fear he may attempt to eat my bed spread."

"Of course... t'hy'la." Geoff smirked, then walked way.

–

"Hey."

"Nyota. Your eyes are red. You have been crying."

"I..." She took a breathe. "I'll understand if you don't—if you want to end this. I know what kind of pressure you're under to bond and have children with a Vulcan man. I can handle it, but don't string me along."

"Ashaya, if I wished to be breeding stock, I would have stayed on Ek'tra. If I ever desire to mate with a male, I will have many years to do so after you have died."

"That is... oddly comforting."

–

"Christine!" M'Benga whined.

"We need help!" McCoy hollered.

"What?" Chapel said, poking her head in the door. "What do you need me to do?"

"Bring us coffee?" M'Benga asked. "Please?"

Chapel left for the mess, mumbling about "four years of nursing school, four years at the academy" and "what does that get me."

"I don't think I'm gonna make it," M'Benga yawned.

"You got to. We've got two more hours to figure this out before the three little Vulcans break out of their cages."

Geoff slapped himself across the face. "Okay. I'm awake. What do we got?" He picked up a marker and walked to the nearest bulkhead.

"It wasn't mind control. At least, not from Sybok."

"Okay." Geoff wrote " _not psionic – Sybok_ " on the bulkhead. "What else?"

"It wasn't contaminants."

" _Not contaminants,_ " Geoff wrote. "Why these three? What do they have in common?"

"They're all Vulcans. In same-sex relationships. Thirty-something."

" _Same-sex relationship. 30-ish. Vulcan,_ " M'Benga scribbled. "They're all unbonded. That's something."

"And none of them have had their first pon farr."

Geoff gaped. "You know about," his voice dropped, "pon farr?"

"Yeah. You're not the only one seeing a Vulcan."

"It's not exactly something they like to talk about. I only know about it from med school."

"So, you haven't discussed it with Spock at all?"

"No."

"What are you gonna do when he goes into it?"

"I don't know. This is a pretty unique situation. The vast majority of Vulcans are bonded by the onset of second puberty. These three are the only cases I've seen where that wasn't—Oh. Oh. I think I know why, now. T'Pring—she said something about a sweet smell coming from Sybok. We assumed that was a psionic manipulation of olfactory perception. But what if it the smell existed but we couldn't smell it?"

"Pheromones."

–

"Explain this to me again," Kirk stated.

"Sybok, as an unbonded male rapidly approaching bonding age, is sending out fuck me pheromones, hoping to attract a mate, or, in this case, entice McCoy into mating with him," M'Benga explained. "These pheromones only affect other Vulcans. So, instead of McCoy, T'Pring jumps him."

"Why just T'Pring? Why didn't Spock start molesting him?"

"Vulcan culture is one of many that has incest taboos."

"What?"

"Sybok is Spock's half-brother," Bones said.

"Why doesn't anybody tell me this stuff? Just because I'm not in the bone-a-Vulcan club... Jesus. Why did Spock attack Sybok?"

"He wanted T'Pring for himself," McCoy answered.

"No. I get that. But why?"

"You have a brother, Jim. Didn't you want everything he had when you were little?"

"It goes farther than basic psychology and family dynamics," M'Benga added. "As you noted, if Spock was not related to Sybok, he would have been driven to act as T'Pring did. But, as Sybok's half-brother, his perception of the pheromones was one of competition, opposed to arousal. Vulcans' feline ancestors had a pack structure similar to that of lions—one male, many females. Of course, socially, Vulcans are a matriarchal, matrilineal society, but, they still have some holdovers from their genetic past. If you recall, male lions occasionally eat their young. In the past, this was believed to be a sign of the brutal, killing nature of the animal, but is, in fact, resulting from genetic competition. The lion would eat his sons to prevent them from killing him and taking over the pride when they grew up. The lion wanted his genes to go on, not his genes combined with the genes of his cubs' mothers. Sybok's pheromones sent a message to Spock that his half-brother was going to win a mate. Spock reacted by challenging him for that mate, in order for his DNA to go on. Spock, of course, didn't realize that was his motivation—he would have reacted the same if T'Pring was a male."

"Thank you for that fascinating lecture on vulcantology, Professor M'Benga," Jim snarked. "But it all seems circumstantial. Do we have any proof?"

"No," McCoy shook his head. "But we have a test."

–

The captain entered the control room, glancing at a live video feed of Spock, T'Pring, and Sybok's respective cells, which were now opaque and sound-proof to prevent visual and auditory contamination of the experiment subjects. "Everything ready?"

"Yes. I was just waiting for you," M'Benga replied.

"Let's get started then."

"Trial one, part one commence," the doctor spoke into a communicator. On the video screen, they observed Sybok. M'Benga turned to the captain, saying, "Normal behavior. He's staring at the wall for about an hour now." He said into the comm, "Trial one, part two commence." M'Benga pressed on the control panel. "The hose connecting Sybok and T'Pring's cells has been activated. Holding for thirty seconds." He glanced at Kirk. "In the second attack, T'Pring crawled through an air duct to Sybok's quarters. We assume that the pheromones were dispersed throughout the ship through the ventilation system, and she was simply following the scent. We hope to simulate this dispersal through the use of of a hose that equalizes the air between the two cells."

"She's not doing anything," Kirk said, gesturing to the screen.

"That's what we expected." M'Benga entered command into the panel. "Trial one, part three. Hose deactivated. Air replaced in both cells. Hold for thirty seconds."

"Why new air?"

"It's possible—but highly unlikely given her developmental status—that T'Pring excretes her own pheromones in response that are triggering Spock's violent reactions. We'll test that later. We're currently testing the effect of Sybok's pheromones. We need to replace the air in both cells so that Spock's cell isn't contaminated with any possible pheromones from T'Pring." Geoff fingers flicked on the panel. "Hose connecting Sybok and Spock's cells has been activated. Hold for thirty seconds."

"What's Spock doing? It looks like he's giving his cell walls a monthly breast exam."

"He's looking for any structural weaknesses in the cell. He's trying to figure out a way to escape."

"But I ordered him to stay in that cell, and he's... Spock."

"He's also a Vulcan. You put a Vulcan in an enclosed space with insufficient stimuli, they will try to break out within eight hours. Look at Sybok. He's been staring at that wall for an hour. It is my personal opinion that he is trying to push it down with his mind."

"Can he do that?"

"I do not know."

"What about T'Pring? She's just sitting there."

"She's thinking, captain. Most likely thinking of a way to construct a phaser out of her medbed. Thirty seconds are up. Still base line from Spock." M'Benga pressed a few buttons on the panel, then spoke into his communicator. "Restoring to initial. Hold for ten seconds. Trial two, step one commence. Ready stimulus one."

"Stimulus one?"

"You'll see." Geoff clicked on his comm. "Send in stimulus one."

On the vid screen, they watched Ensign Keenser go through the disinfecting chamber, and into Sybok's cell. Geoff turned on the speakers in the control room.

"Hey," Keenser said.

"Hey," Sybok replied.

"I love you, baby," Keenser stated, quite stiffly.

Sybok eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Okay."

"No change in life signs." M'Benga fiddled with the panel. "Hose connected between T'Pring and Sybok's cells. Hold for thirty seconds." He repeated the test with Keenser in the room, pumping air into T'Pring and Spock's cells. There was no change in behavior. "Release stimulus one. Restore to initial. Ready stimulus two." M'Benga turned to the captain. "You'll like this one. Send in stimulus two." Cupcake walked into Sybok's chamber.

"Care to explain, doctor?"

"We needed to test whether Sybok reacted to all sentient beings, to all sentient beings he was physically capable of mating with, and to specific persons of interest. Of course, this is all hinging on Sybok not being interested in mating with Cup—stimulus two."

Kirk's blue eyes turned steely grey. "He better not."

"Hey," Cupcake said on the vid screen.

Sybok quirked an eyebrow. "Hey, what's going on? Are they—"

"I love you, baby," Cupcake said loud and clear.

Kirk made a most undignified squeaking noise.

"You all right, captain?"

"I'm fine."

M'Benga repeated the hose tests, with no reaction from T'Pring and Spock. "See? Nothing to worry about, captain. And, now, for the grand finale. Send in stimulus three."

Dr. McCoy entered Sybok's cell. "Hey."

"Hey, what's going on?"

McCoy gazed into Sybok's eyes. "I love you, baby."

"I love you, too."

M'Benga connected the hose between Sybok and T'Pring's cells. In short order, T'Pring dropped to all fours, sniffing the air. She crawled to the vent, and began scratching at the wall.

"See, pheromones. I told you, captain. It's just—Shit!" Spock ceased examining the wall, and began throwing furniture at it, howling, "Mine! Mine!"

"Pheromones, you said?"

"The hose isn't—It has to be coming from T'Pring's reaction."

"Could it be psionic?"

"No. Those walls all have psionic shielding. It can be only katric in—that son of a bitch." M'Benga threw his communicator against the wall. "That son of a bitch!"

"Lieutenant?"

"Spock's soul is still bound to T'Pring's. He's still married to her."

–

Uhura stood outside of T'Pring's cell, after the walls were rendered transparent again.

"Ashaya, you have been crying again. Has someone--"

"I don't know what's worse—Spock lying to me, or you not correcting him... I'm the laughing stock of the science department."

"I do not understand what you are saying."

"You promised me that you wouldn't break my heart like he did. You said that you weren't into that Vulcan secrecy bullshit."

"I am not. When have I ever kept a secret from you?"

"You told me you broke your bond with Spock."

"I did."

"The experiment begs to differ.. Geoff says that Spock's attacks on Sybok can only be explained by Sybok's mating pheromones affecting Spock's katric bondmate."

"Dr. M'Benga is wrong. My katra is not bonded to Spock's. We had the bond dissolved."

"I want to believe you."

"Then believe me."

"I'm sorry." Uhura walked away. Once she was gone, T'Pring futilely punched the cell wall.

–

M'Benga's comm buzzed for what seemed like the millionth time.

"You gonna get that?" McCoy asked.

"Nope."

"It's Spock."

"I know."

"You can't ignore him forever. We have to let him out of that cage eventually."

M'Benga continued to work silently.

"He's paging you to explain this. To say he's sorry."

Geoff scoffed. "That's not how Vulcans work."

"That's how mine works."

"Lucky you. I'm going to lunch."

–

"Wow," Sybok said to McCoy, who was on the other side of cell wall. "That's really fucked up."

"Geoff and Nyota aren't exactly taking it well."

"I can imagine." Sybok shook his head. "I doesn't make sense though. I mean, why would they stay bonded, lie about it, and get into serious relationships?"

"Maybe they were planning on getting together and making some Vulcan babies, after sowing their wild oats."

"Vulcans do not 'sow their wild oats.'"

"What do you call T'Pring's well-documented penchant for threesomes at the VSA?"

"That's college. It's pretty much expected. Didn't you get buck wild at the Academy?"

"No."

"But how did you study?"

"I got my anatomy lessons from simulations and donated cadavers—not other students."

"No, I mean, orgasms increase study focus. Didn't you have a study group that you—"

"No!"

"I think I know why Vulcans are so much smarter than humans. Anyway, Vulcans have casual sex before marriage, but they don't enter serious relationships unless they plan on marrying that person."

"So," McCoy coughed. "You plan on..."

Sybok's cheeks turned bright green. "I meant traditional Vulcans."

"Uh huh."

"Which I am not. But Spock and T'Pring are. And, do you think T'Pau would have sex with a woman whose soul is bound to her grandson?"

"No. But I don't think about T'Pau having sex."

"It's not something I sit around doing."

"You have a point. But T'Pring could have lied to her."

"Beyond the Vulcan propensity for complete honesty, T'Pau could tell if T'Pring was telling a lie."

"She's like you, then?"

"No. She couldn't tell just by looking at her, but they had a lot of, uh, skin-to-skin contact. I think T'Pring and Spock honestly believe that they had their bond dissolved."

"The test was foolproof."

"I didn't say they were right. They're still bonded, but they don't know it."

"Can't they tell?"

"No, betrothal bonds like theirs are made during childhood, before the mind is mature enough to bond. So, the children's souls are bonded by a priestess. When they mature, usually during their first pon farr, they bond mentally. But, until then, they have no way of accessing the bond, unless they are extremely psionically gifted and can look at their own katra."

"Can you do it?"

"I don't want to brag or anything..."

"So, you could look at theirs?"

"Yeah, but it's an extremely delicate, intimate procedure. Neither of them trust me. If I touched either of their souls, they might kill me instinctively."

"Spock would do that to his own brother?"

"Genetics mean nothing at the katric level."

"Don't you have some sort of bond as brothers?"

"We did, but, when I was excommunicated, all church members—all Vulcans following the so-called Vulcan way—had to cut ties with me. Before they sent me on the first shuttle to nowhere, my kin and I were rounded up, and they had their katric bonds to me severed."

"That's cold."

"We're not known to be a kind, feeling people."

"Could you ever reinstate the bond?"

"Yeah, but I don't see it ever happening. Spock despises me, and I'm no fan of his."

"But could it be done? Could you tie your soul to Spock's? Or even T'Pring's?"

"Yeah, but Len, this is big. It's bigger than anything I've ever done. And they'd never consent to it."

"If they want to stay on this ship, they need to stop attacking you."

"You said I excrete the pheromones because I want you to mate with me. It seems like it would be a lot easier--"

"No."

"What?"

"I'm not going to marry you."

"Why?"

"Because you obviously don't want this. Not now, at least. Five minutes ago, you couldn't even admit that you were considering marrying me. People shouldn't get married because they feel they have to. It never works out, 'cause when that thing that made them feel that way disappears, the marriage goes with it. Believe me, I know."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I'm sorry. We'll figure something else out. I'l talk to them, and, maybe they can go back to the person who tried to do it the first time."

–

The three Vulcans sat in silence, after being led into a single containment cell.

"Well, I guess, uh, we should get started."

"Are you always this articulate?" T'Pring asked.

"I'm choosing to ignore that. Who dissolved your bond?"

T'Pring and Spock shared a glare, then T'Pring answered, "Sovern."

"Sovern?"

"Yes."

"Sovern, of the Clan Pir?"

"Yes."

"Sovern!"

"I found nothing lacking in Sovern's psionic abilities," Spock snapped.

"Spock, you're luck you're not dead. Or, worse. He could have—you could be walking around without a katra right now."

"As always, you exaggerate."

"I'm not—Sovern is an idiot. He used to beat you up in school for besting him. How could you let that psi-negative-twelve touch your katra?"

"We did not have a choice. There was no one else."

"As you recall," T'Pring drawled, "all of the Vulcan masters are dead."

"I suppose that cause you jubilation."

"Shut up, Spock. This is serious. Pull that stick out your ass and listen to me. If your bond remains, all of us will be forced to leave the ship. And, I doubt either Lt. Uhura or Dr. M'Benga would be willing to follow. Spock, if your hybrid genetics cause you to go into pon farr early, you will take T'Pring—whether she consents or not. Now, you can go back to Ek'tra, have Sovern try his luck again, and end up as the walking dead. Or, you can have me do it."

"What would be done?" T'Pring asked.

"I've devised a plan. I can bond myself to both of you temporarily—just so I'll survive breaking the bond—but we will all have to leave the ship, or T'Pring or me and Spock will have to bond ourselves to our current lovers, so, when any one of us excretes pheromones—as you both will begin to by the next tour—the others will not be responsive. Ideally, T'Pring would be the one to get married. Leonard--"

"You are mispronouncing that," Spock cut in.

"Leonard said no."

"Perhaps if you said his name correctly, he would be more responsive to your romantic overtures," T'Pring added.

Sybok rolled his eyes. "You two are just tetchy because yours aren't speaking to you." Spock straightened his shirt, and T'Pring patted her hair. "It seems highly unlikely that any one of us is going to get married within the deadline the captain has set for us to be back on active duty."

"I do not see why both of us must leave the Enterprise, if it is your pheromones--"

"How long do you think you'll have, T'Pring? I'm six years older than you. I started going into second puberty a year and a half ago. You're a female. You'll go into it earlier. And, we don't know when Spock will—if ever. We can't have two unbonded Vulcans on this ship without catastrophe."

"This..." T'Pring took a deep breath, gathering herself. "This is not fair. We should not have to do this."

"Whether or not this is fair, is irrelevant. It is happening."

"Be quiet, Spock," T'Pring snapped. "This is wrong. There should be some measure put in place by Starfleet to..." Her eyes swept the cell walls. "We should not be caged. We are not animals. Starfleet is punishing us for being Vulcan. I never should have come here."

"You couldn't stay, T'Pring," Sybok said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "None of us could. This is as much Vulcan's fault as it is Starfleet's."

"Your response is predictable," Spock sniped.

"No, Sybok is correct. Instead of bonding us as children, Vulcan society should have found a suppressant for the pheromones. I do not understand why they did not do as such."

"They couldn't because it would mean they'd have to acknowledge our primal nature. They couldn't do that. It would go against everything we're taught—that Vulcans are some highly evolved race—the most sophisticated. We're a bunch of bipedal cats, for fuck's sake!"

"I do not wish to leave the Enterprise. It is the first place that has felt like home since..."

"I know. There's a way that none of us will have to leave. I haven't spoken of it, because it is drastic."

"I am willing to do almost anything to stay aboard the Enterprise," Spock stated, solemnly.

"As would I. Tell us of your plan."

"I would bond myself to both you—a familial bond. Then, I would remove your betrothal bond and replace it with the same familial bond. And, we would stay like that. It would be like if we were siblings. For all intents and purposes, we would—we would be..."

"We would be family," T'Pring said, her voice trembling minutely.

"I know this isn't an appealing concept for either of you, but we don't—"

"I consent," Spock said sharply.

"And I," T'Pring whispered.

"I don't think you should rush into this. We're talking about binding our katras."

"I am aware of the gravity of this decision."

"I..." T'Pring hesitated. "It could be pleasant. To have family." Sybok winced. "What is the matter?"

"Nothing."

"When can you perform the procedure?" Spock asked, as if Sybok was going to remove his tonsils. That is, if Spock had tonsils.

"I have all the necessary supplies in my quarters, but we will need to be on a class M planet for the ritual."

"We will not be stopping at such a planet for weeks. Can it be done elsewhere?"

"No, I need to draw on the great energy of a life-providing planet. That's why all bondings were done on Vulcan."

"We cannot stay in these cages until then," Spock said. "Is there no other way?"

"No, I need the energy."

"What if," T'Pring started, "I could provide you with an alternative source of energy?"

"What do you mean?"

"This ship functions in the same way as a planet: it has mass and provides for living beings. It also holds a massive amount of energy in its core. I propose you perform the procedure at the warp core."

"Her logic is sound," Spock agreed.

Sybok sighed. "This will be one for the record books."

–

"Ye want tae do what where?"

"Perform an ancient Vulcan bonding ritual down in engineering, using the energy of the warp core as a surrogate for the energy of a bio-planet," Sybok answered.

"What's the probability that this ritual will drain the ship of all energy and kill everyone on board?"

"Spock says six percent, but T'Pring thinks it's more like four percent."

Scotty considered it for a moment. "All right."

–

It was standing room only in engineering when Sybok, Spock, and T'Pring entered in their ceremonial robes. The entire engineering department was there, along with about half of science and the main bridge crew. M'Benga supervised, ready for any medical emergency that might arise, while McCoy watched on a vid screen in sickbay, so as to prevent Sybok's pheromones from disrupting the ritual.

"I think I may vomit," Sybok said, seeing the crowd.

"I am gratified that we decided to perform the ritual clothed," Spock remarked.

"That reminds me of something Nyota told me," T'Pring said, turning to Sybok. "She said that imagining the audience naked can reduce performance anxiety."

"Dr. M'Benga told me I couldn't think about sex," Sybok said. "Of course, all I can think of now is sex..."

"I find mentally reciting the periodic table of elements solves that problem," Spock suggested.

"Hydrogen, helium..." Sybok mumbled as they reached the warp core. He placed incense around the core, and sprinkled herbs about the place. "Sit." The three Vulcans sat in a circle surrounding the warp core. "T'Pring." She extended her right hand, fingers spread in the traditional Vulcan greeting, the ta'al. Sybok placed his left hand on top of hers in the same position. "Draw your life energy into your finger tips, let it flow into mine. Feel them twist and intertwine. Are you mine?"

"Yes. Are you mine?"

"Yes. Breath. Can I let go?"

"Yes."

T'Pring and Sybok separated their hands, and opened their eyes, seeing each other for the first time. "Ko-kai," Sybok muttered, his throat tight and scratchy.

"Sa-kai," whispered T'Pring, in such a way that, if they were not surrounded by hundreds of people, Sybok would take her into his arms and stroke her hair. As a child, he always wanted a little sister. That's not exactly true. He would have taken any other manner of sibling as long as it wasn't Spock.

Now, for the heavy lifting. It was one thing to bind katras with someone he felt largely neutral toward, but Spock... They hadn't parted on the greatest terms—not that they had a great relationship before Sybok's fall from grace and subsequent exile from the kingdom of Vulcan. Both brothers struggled to find one pleasant memory of the other. To Sybok, Spock was the stodgy brat who took his father away. To Spock, Sybok was the vengeful madman who was never around. To bind two opposing katras would be difficult, if not impossible.

"Spock." Spock raised an eyebrow, then extended his left hand in the ta'al. Sybok took a deep, somewhat weary breath, and set his right hand on Spock's left. "Draw your life energy--" There was a powerful rushing of—two dams being undone—and a clicking.

 _Sybok is six years old and stands at his father's side, though three feet shorter and not seen by most of the people in the cave—superior Vulcan peripheral vision be damned._

"He's so human," Sarek says.

Sybok stands on his tippy-toes, but he still can't see. He pulls on his father's robe. "I wish to see."

Sarek shares a look with Sybok's new mother, then crouches to his level. Sybok can see the tiny bundle—a little brother.

"What is his name?"

"Spock."

"Spock. Spock. Spock appears no more human than I, Father."

New Mother laughs.

"What is amusing, Mother?" Sybok asks.

"Nothing. Would you like to hold him?"

"I do not believe—"

"It'll be fine. Sybok is a big boy."

"Yes, I am all of six. I will not drop him."

Sarek begrudgingly places Spock in his brother's arms, instructing him to support the baby's head. "Hello, Spock. I am your older brother. This means I will likely grow up to be responsible and dependable, while you will be rebellious and flighty." He drops a kiss on Spock's tiny forehead, just like New Mother does when she thinks he's already fallen asleep.

"I think that is enough," Sarek says.

Sybok is ten years old and crying on his bed. He muffles the noise by weeping into a pillow. He can hear tiny feet padding on his bedroom rug, then a dip in his bed.

"What is the matter?"

"Nothing," he mumbles into his pillow.

"Why are you crying? Are you hurt? Do you require food? Are you tired? Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"No. I am upset."

"Why?"

"I am all alone."

"Why?"

"My mother is dead."

"Why?"

"She had a brain aneurysm."

"Why?"

"Because the world is unfair."

"Why?"

"I do not know! Stop asking me so many questions." Sybok feels a tiny hand making small circles on his back. "What are you doing?"

"I do not know. This is what Mother does when I am sick. It makes me feel better."

Sybok is fifteen years old and about to be in a world of trouble. He has skipped school, stolen his father's hoverbike, and sped through at least three stoplights. This all could be explained away. In fact, it wouldn't even be necessary if he could just tell them the truth. But the truth would only get him into more trouble. He turns the corner, seeing that he was right—that bully was thinking about cornering Spock with a dozen of his buddies. He speeds over the heads of the advancing mob, lowering the bike to ground.

"Spock! Get on!" He tosses Spock a helmet, and they ride away.

"How did you know?"

"It was a lucky guess."

"Sybok! Father told you not to eavesdrop."

"I couldn't help it. Sovern was thinking rather loudly."

"I am surprised that he thinks at all."

Sybok is seventeen years old and seeing his brother for the last time. The priestesses gave them two minutes to say goodbye before snapping their familial bond.

"Listen to me, Spock. Whatever happens, I will always be your brother. And I will always love you. I know you can't say it back, but I know you love me, too. Just—you have to promise me, okay? Promise me that you will never undergo kolinahr."

"I promise."

"Good. Good. I'll find you, okay? I'll find you and tell you everything."

Sybok was thirty-eight years old and might have just had an acid flashback. He glanced at Spock, who was looking as unflappable as usual. It was just him, then. He cleared his throat. "Could you guys scoot closer? And put your hands together like we just did. Okay. I'll just..." He placed his left hand on T'Pring meld points and right hand on Spock's. "My mind to your mind..." He really didn't need to say that, but it was common courtesy to give some warning.

Spock and T'Pring's katras were both plants—no surprise there. Childhood bondings are based on katric compatibility. Spock looked to be fek-kastik, a post plant with sturdy ram-rod stocks that bear some resemblance in feature and function to Terran bamboo. T'Pring was a yon-savas, probably an exact copy of one grown on her family's farm. Beneath them, a complicated network of roots grew, with two snaking together, forming a knot. It looked—Sybok winced—it looked like someone had taken an ax to the connecting root, and never hit the same spot twice. He deftly untied the knot, tucked the roots back under their respective plants, and got the fuck out of there. He was too angry to stay.

"It was a fucking hack job!" he said, emerging from the midst. "You could have both been killed." Sybok would have stormed out, if there weren't a few hundred people standing in the way and he didn't have to finish up the ritual. "Okay." He ran his hands through his hair. "Let's—just do what we did earlier but with each other." He wasn't exactly being helpful, but he felt like smashing his fist through the warp core.

"Are you mine?" T'Pring asked.

"Yes," answered Spock. "Are you mine?"

"Yes."

"Okay, show's over everybody," Sybok announced. "You can all go back to work." After the room cleared, Sybok turned to T'Pring and Spock, not entirely sure what to say. "So... I, uh... Guess we should head to sickbay."

–

McCoy was waiting at the door. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Did it work?"

"There's only one way to tell." Sybok planted a firm kiss on McCoy's mouth, twining their fingers together. After a few seconds, they were pulled apart. Sybok saw T'Pring's green face as she tossed McCoy across the room. "Shit. It—"

"Dr. McCoy," said T'Pring, her voice steel. "You will not touch Sybok like that until you are married. That goes for you, as well, Dr. M'Benga. Do not think I cannot see you playing patty-cake with Spock over there." She stormed out, the automatic doors seeming to slam behind her.

"What the hell was that?" McCoy griped.

"That was my sister."

–

Dr. McCoy had a few questions, as he lay in post-coital bliss, having dared to "touch Sybok like that" before marriage. "T'Pring's Joe Louis impression down in sickbay—was that pheromones or just the generic brand of Vulcan crazy?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm going with the latter. She formed—what?—three full sentences down there? Before, when she was all riled up on pheromones, she was barely coherent."

"How can I forget her epic quest for 'you sperms'?"

"Yeah, exactly. I'm guessing it's emotional interference from the bond. It must be hard to adjust; she has all this power and responsibility now."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, at a purely katric—read: deeply emotional—level, she's acquired two brothers—two unbonded brothers, who are parsecs away from their father and the pointy-eared morality police. She has to feel like Spock and I are her responsibility."

"Shouldn't you be the one feeling like this? You are, in some twisted sense that I will never quite get used to, her big brother."

"Yes, but she's my sister. She's a woman. And, like it or not, Vulcan culture is still deeply matriarchal."

"I don't get that."

"What?"

"The great Vulcan matriarchy you and Geoff keep harping about. I'm no expert on Vulcan sociology, but I had to fulfill the xeno-cultures requirement the same as everyone else, and I didn't see it. The entire Vulcan unit covered one person—and he was a man."

"Don't mention him in the bedroom. He's like a cold shower to me. I swear, I'm the only Vulcan who doesn't get an erection at the mere utterance of Surak's name."

"I'll have to try that on the bridge some time."

"Don't talk about giving my brother an erection either.

Surak is just one person. An important person, but still only one person. A person, mind you, that the Vulcan High Council publishes a disproportionate amount of literature on in the documents released to outworlders. He's the image the green-blooded powers that be want outworlders to associate with all of Vulcanity. And, if I'm any indication, that image is hardly representative of the race as a whole.

The story told to the Federation is riddled with holes. I get it, I do. It's all PR. We wanted to assert ourselves as a power—we needed a figurehead. A male figurehead, a maverick. We needed a Vulcan Jesus. Except, we cut out all the women out of Surak's official biography. Surak Christ—as I like to call him—is this lone wolf figure, who appeared out of nowhere. They don't talk about his mother, his patrons, his wife, the council of women who promoted his ideas. Surak wouldn't have gotten anywhere, if he didn't have the support of the matriarchy. That's not to say his philosophy wasn't winning ground without them, but they would have had him assassinated like all other political upstarts, if they didn't see him as a valuable tool. In the years directly preceding Surak, the matriarchy was as close as it's ever gotten to being overthrown. All of Vulcan society was about to go out with a whimper. Then, Surak shows up with his hopey-changey message of peace and togetherness that places a premium on psionic abilities—abilities that women are inherently better at. So, we got civility and a state religion that props up the matriarchy."

"Okay, but if women are running the show, why is the high council largely male?"

"The high council handles worldly affairs. Women are too busy dealing with spiritual matters to attend to those. And, if you look at the high council, the members all have incredibly powerful mothers and wives. Like my father. Sarek may be on the VHC, but T'Pau's the most powerful Vulcan in the galaxy."

"What does this have to do with T'Pring?"

"The matriarchy influences family dynamics. Spock and I will instinctively default to her, and T'Pring will take charge. It's just the way we were raised. At least, T'Pring has her head on straight. That's more than I can say for me and Spock."

"So, you're really gonna go through with it? Try to be one big happy pointy-eared family?"

"Yeah. For me and T'Pring, this is our only shot at having Vulcan kin. We've have to make the best of it."

"What about Spock? Do you think he'll give it a go?"

"I'm not sure. Out of all of us, he's the most traditional, and, when we bonded, something weird happened."

"You didn't come in your pants like the first time we melded, did you?"

"No. And, by the way, that's what you get for being such a tease."

"I was not a tease. I was courting you."

"To a Vulcan, that courtship could be interpreted as six months of mental foreplay. You're lucky you didn't give me psionic blue balls. I could be impo—shit."

"What?"

"Spock's pacing outside my door. I have to--"

"Go ahead. I'm gonna hop in the shower."

Sybok kissed Leonard on the cheek, threw on a robe, and headed out to the living room. He swished the doors open. "Spock?"

"Yes." Spock appeared in the doorway, sniffing at the air. Probably smelling Leonard and sex all over Sybok, but Sybok was too miffed about not being able to go another round in the shower to care.

"Come in."

Spock stepped in, awkwardly straightening his shirt. "How can you perceive the presence of a person outside your door, when your room has psionic shielding?"

"My consciousness extends to the shield. When someone gets close enough, I can sort of feel them bumping up against it."

"Against your consciousness?"

"Yeah. That, or I'm a precog with severely limited talents. I mean, I guess it's handy knowing who's at the door, but, as far as seeing the future goes, that's pretty lame."

"Why do you speak that way?"

"What way?"

"'Yeah,' 'I guess,' 'I mean,' 'I'm,' 'that's,' 'pretty lame.' Why do you intentionally cloud your meaning?"

"I don't know. Why do you ask so many questions?" Sybok suddenly felt very self-conscious, more vulnerable than ever before in his life. Could Spock feel the wave of deja vu passing over the room?

He must have, because there he was fussing with his clothes again. "Did you do something when we bonded?"

"No, I—Okay, I'm going to ignore the implication that I am some sort of mind rapist... You felt it too?"

"If you are referring to recalling memories of our childhood, then, yes, I felt it, too."

"Do you know what this means?"

"No, but I imagine it means either something completely insane or something negative about Vulcan culture."

"When the Vulcan master unbonded us all those years ago, she ripped out part of our katras—the part containing positive memories of each other. That bitch! I knew they had it out for me—or in for me. I never understood that—What's wrong with your face? You look like you just swallowed a winged insect."

"I am experiencing inner turmoil."

"You want to sit down on the couch before you hurt yourself?"

Spock sunk down onto the sofa, his eyes unblinking.

"Do you want me to get you a paper bag to breath into?"

"Do you have alcohol? I think I would like alcohol."

Sybok started to quirk an eyebrow before catching himself. "I'll be right back." He excused himself to his bedroom. Leonard was already out of the show, drying himself off with a towel. "Hey. Spock's going to be here for a while. Possibly all night."

"You want me to leave?"

"No. If you could just stay out of the living room. I don't think Spock would react too well to you seeing him like this."

"That bad?"

"He almost made an expression."

"All right. I'm going to bed then. You have fun."

"Oh, yeah. Oodles of fun to be had. Good night."

"G'night."

Sybok went back into the front room, stopping in the kitchen to grab a bottle of Romulan Ale and two glasses. Spock's eyes went wide when he placed the bottle and glasses on the coffee table.

"That is illegal contraband."

"I have special clearance from Starfleet," Sybok said, sitting next to his brother. "I find it very Terracentric that alcohol and marijuana are permitted on board, while stronger non-Human spirits and substances are banned. Human crew members are allowed to get drunk and high, but their liquor and grass leave us unaffected."

"Chocolate is permissible."

"Chocolate is kid's stuff. It takes far too much chocolate to get intoxicated. And it's fattening as all hell. As they say, candy is dandy," Sybok filled their glasses, "but liquor is quicker. Salud."

They clinked their glasses together, and took a deep swig. Spock doubled over in a fit of coughs. "That is very strong."

"That's why it's illegal. So, what's troubling you?"

"I am finding a great conflict within myself between logic and emotion. Logically, I know that there is a ninety-eight-point-seven percent probability of the Vulcan master destroying our memories, but emotionally, I do not want to believe this. If it is true, everything I was told as a child may be a lie."

"Normally, I'd advise you to go with your emotions, but, in this case, I'll vote for logic. Seriously, though, I know how this feels. When I first went to Gol, I didn't want to believe what I was happening. I was in denial for a little while. That's why it took me so long to run away. It was right there in front of me, but I couldn't acknowledge it without my entire world crashing down around me."

"What happened at Gol?"

"You don't know?"

"No."

"What happened to everything I wrote? My papers?"

"I was unaware that you wrote about the experience."

"They destroyed them, then. That's—it's good to know I was banished from paradise for nothing."

"I never knew why you had to leave. Father would never tell me, and I could not discuss with Mother. It upset her too much. The children in school said you were a traitor, a freak, a heretic. My teachers only gave vague justifications for your exile. The most I was ever told was that you were mentally unstable and jealous of the Vulcan Masters."

"That's rich." Sybok took a drink.

"What happened?"

"I was a bad boy, Spock, so they sent me away to Gol."

"I remember. You were excited. Father was proud, and Mother was sad."

"She knew that I wasn't going to come back."

"They said you were going to a special school, because you were so gifted. They said you would be the youngest Vulcan to undergo kolinahr. I was jealous. I told Mother I was going to undergo kolinahr when I was fifteen, so I would be the youngest ever. She cried. Did you know what she knew?"

"No. I thought I was being rewarded, but they were just trying to tame me. It was bad, Spock. We were so alone. The first hundred days—they locked us in cells. We had a toilet and a fresher. There was a dumbwaiter that brought us food and water twice a day. The cells were soundproof, with psionic shielding. That cell was my world. I'd never been—they didn't tell us how long we were going to be kept there, or why we were being held. The solitude was the killing kind. I thought I was the only sentient being left in the universe.

"Then, on the sixty-seventh day, the wall I slept against started to shake, as if being hit with a battering ram. I thought someone was trying to rescue me. Four days days later, I started to hear something banging against the wall. The next day, I felt someone else. He was so desperate and wild. The banging kept on going for ten days, then it stopped. He stopped. It started to smell, but they didn't come to get him. He sat there until they came back to get us out. When they led me out of my cell, I saw him—his body. He was naked, his clothes were torn to shreds. He was covered in cum, so erect it looked painful. Right then, I knew how he died, but I couldn't believe it.

"They congratulated us on making it through the first test. We went on to the second ritual—fasting and meditating at the lodge. I ran away the night they announced the third ritual—mind melding with the masters. I got lost, I ran out of food the third day. I started hallucinating, then I woke up in a hospital in ShiKahr. The healers said I was out there for forty days, but it didn't seem that long."

"Did the masters know that it was that man's Time?"

"I don't know. The entire cell block was automated. They never went down there, there weren't any security cameras. At my trial, they said that they 'diligently screened for signs of health problems' before admittance. It's possible that they missed it."

"Everything is a lie," Spock said, staring off into the distance. "Everything I have tried to become is a lie."

Sybok poured him another drink. "Tell me about it."

"I used to... After the destruction of Vulcan, I forgot all the flaws of vuhlkantra. It seemed cruel to be critical of our society."

"That's a common reaction. After a terrorist attack, it often becomes a love it or leave it situation. Hyper-nationalism, that sort of thing."

"I hated you."

"The feeling was mutual."

"I did not understand why you joined Starfleet."

"The benefits."

"I thought you were trying to take it from me."

"Take what? Starfleet?"

"Yes."

"Well, I thought you were trying to Father from me. I guess we're even."

"I suppose." Spock glanced down at his drink. "I feel warm."

"That's normal."

"In many of the Terran films I have viewed, becoming intoxicated with another person functions as a bonding experience."

"T'Pring would kill me."

"Do you know any drinking games?"

"No. I usually drink alone. But, there is this one thing I do. I don't know if it's a drinking game, but—"

"What does it entail?"

"Watching the live feed of the Terran legislature, and drinking when the congressmen do certain things, like take a sip every time they say the 'Terran people want', take two sips when they bring up a citizen in a dire situation that relates to the bill in discussion, chug when someone yells something from the gallery, drink everything when they take a vote."

And that's the last thing Sybok remembered of that evening. The next thing he recalled was being shaken to wakefulness by McCoy. "Get up."

"No." Sybok curled into himself, shielding his eyes from the bright lights of the Enterprise.

"C'mon." McCoy shook him more forcefully.

"I don't have any appointments until the second half of alpha shift."

"I know. I need you to wake up Spock."

"What?" Sybok slowly opened his eyes. "Why's Spock sleeping here?" Leonard held up a very empty bottle of Romulan Ale. "Oh. That explains—I got Spock drunk? T'Pring is going to kill me. What time is it?"

"0800."

"Fuck. He's going to be late. Why didn't you wake him up?"

"I tried. He wouldn't budge."

"Yeah, he sleeps like the dead." Sybok crawled across the floor to where Spock was sleeping on his front, with his arms tucked underneath his body and his butt in the air. "Spock. Spock! Ow. Spock." He sighed. "Spock, I'm gonna kick you in the ridges if you don't wake up."

As fast as lightening, Spock flipped onto his back, blocking his sides with his hands. His eyes shot open, and squinted closed just as quickly. "It is very bright."

"And you're very hungover."

"I am not 'hungover'." To demonstrate his point, Spock stood up, only to stumble back onto the floor.

"Oh god," Sybok turned to McCoy. "He's still drunk."

The doctor erupted into laughter.

"This is serious. T'Pring will have my ridges in a jar if she finds out."

"I'm sorry." McCoy wiped a tear from his eye. "It just makes me so happy."

"Don't you have anything to sober him up? A hypo or something?"

"Nothing that works against Romulan Ale."

"Shit. Spock? Do you think you can work today?"

Spock lazily opened his eyes. "I like work."

"Yeah, I know you do. But can--"

"I like Dr. McCoy. I find your accent to be delightful. And your bluster reminds me of an angry sehlat." Spock's eyes filled with tears, and he buried his face in the sofa. "I-Chaya..."

"He can't work like this," McCoy said, fighting back a guffaw.

"Can you put him on medical leave?"

"Not without a major compromise of my professional ethics."

"Fine, I'll do it. Computer, record, please. Commander Spock is hereby temporarily relieved of duty so that he may attend an emergency counseling session about his changing body. End recording."

–

Sybok ladled another spoonful of soup into Spock's mug. "This should help with the headache."

Spock sniffed at the steaming liquid. "Plomeek?"

"Yeah. It's a miracle cure for hangovers."

Spock sipped at the broth cautiously. "This is Mother's recipe."

"That's the only recipe I know, so..." Sybok cleared his throat. "How are things with Dr. M'Benga?"

"Satisfactory. And for you and Dr. McCoy?"

"Good. Things are good. Great, maybe." Sybok tapped his fingers on his knees. "Listen, I—"

"It is necessary—"

"Sorry. Go ahead."

"No, you spoke first. Proceed."

"Okay. I just... I'm sorry I haven't been around. I wish I could have seen you grow up. I know things weren't easy for you on Vulcan, and maybe I might have been able to make it better."

"I doubt there was anything you could have done to make it better. There was little anyone could do to lessen the prejudice of my peers and of the high council."

"I know, but I wish I could have been there when you blew off the VHC. Did you really flip them the bird?"

"That is an exaggeration. However, I believe my tone may have indicated a message far more insulting than the 'live long and prosper' I delivered."

"You're something, Spock."

Apparently too hung over to insist that everyone and everything was indeed something, Spock reclined on the sofa. "I, as well, must apologize for implying that your mother was a woman of ill repute. Your mother died long before I was born and therefore I cannot make any judgments about her sexual conduct."

"Yeah, and I'm sorry for sleeping with T'Pring and M'Benga."

"You could not have possibly foreseen that I would meet and engage in a romantic relationship with Dr. M'Benga." Spock puzzled over this for a moment. "Could you?"

"No. I don't go into the precog stuff. That's nasty territory. It can get you killed. But, any road, I shouldn't have rubbed in your face."

"You would not have felt the need to do had I not accused you of being insane and manipulating my thoughts. For that I apologize."

"That was kind of a dick move."

"You speak like them, even when you are not in their presence."

"I like their words. They're... expressive. And it helps that their entire vocabulary isn't based on defaming my lifestyle."

"You obviously have not been privy to Dr. McCoy's supposedly harmless nicknames."

"No, I've received my fair share of 'pointy-eared bastards' but I find calling him a 'cracker, futilely holding onto the false hope that the South will somehow miraculously rise again in some delusional Stephen Foster based fantasy' tends to shut him up."

Spock takes a swill of his soup.

"So, um, do you want to do something? Together? Perhaps watch a sporting event of some sort? I hear that's a very popular method of male bonding."

"I'd prefer it if we continued talking."

"Okay. What do you want to talk about? Literature, the weather, literature and the weather?"

"What have you been doing for the past nineteen years?"

"Oh, I..." Sybok ran his hand through his hair. "I've been studying."

"Under whom?"

"Lots of people, but primarily the University of Betazed."

"I was unaware that institution had a mind arts department."

"They don't. That's where I got my masters in psychology."

"Why Betazed?"

"That's where the shuttle dropped me off. I suppose they thought it was funny or it would teach me a lesson about emotionalism. And Betazed has one of the most open immigration policies in the Federation. They paid for my school, and set me up in a house with other political refugees. I would have stayed if my Fed visa hadn't run out. I re-upped my student visa at Benares Hindu, getting my ph.d. After that, I sort of bummed around on whatever planet would give me a grant for post-doctoral research. I studied whatever mind arts they had—mostly out of sheer boredom, but some of it has proved useful. Especially the sexu—Fuck."

"What is the matter?"

"T'Pring is outside. And she's pissed."

"What should we do?"

"There's not much we can do, but face the music."

The door opened, revealing a very green T'Pring.

"Ko-kai," Spock said, nodding his head.

"Do not 'ko-kai' me," T'Pring spat. "You two became intoxicated on Romulan Ale last night. So intoxicated that Spock was unable to work."

"Listen," Sybok stepped forward. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have given him the booze. It won't happen again."

"You think I care about the alcohol? I can drink you both under the table, as the expression goes."

"Then you're not mad?" Sybok said, hopefully.

"I am not mad. I am irritated. You sat together all last night, drinking, recalling years gone by, probably watching a sporting event of some kind, and neither one of you picked up the comm and invited me to join you."

"I'm sorry. I thought you would be angry at me for getting Spock drunk."

"I am not your mother. I am not here to police your behavior."

"You seemed pretty intent on doing just that in sickbay, when you threw McCoy across the room for kissing me."

"That was a failure in judgment predicated by emotional interference from a fresh bond. I thought you of all people would understand."

"I—god, you can't—I can't magically know how to do this family shit, okay? I'm no good with subtle, nuanced emotion. You have to tell me what you want; I'm not a mind-reader."

"Technically," said Spock, rising from the sofa, "you are."

Sybok glared at his brother. "You're not helping."

"T'Pring," Spock started, "we apologize for not including you in last evening's binge drinking ritual. We shall endeavor to be more inclusive in our future gatherings."

"That is all I ask," T'Pring solemnly stated, sitting down on the couch. She reached out, uncovering a steaming pot on the coffee table. "Is this plomeek broth?"

"Yeah," Sybok replied. "I can get you a bowl if you like."

"That will not be necessary." She covered the pot. "I have never understood the ShiKahrian obsession with plomeek. It is a terribly bland vegetable."

Spock settled back onto the couch, making a point to take a chug of his soup. Sybok took his place between his siblings. "We prefer to call it subtle."

The three were still for a moment, taking in the silence as their kind is wont to do, before T'Pring apparently grew bored of this. "I suggest we partake in a group leisure activity."

Spock nodded his assent, but added, "I am in no condition for physical or mental taxation of an excessive degree."

"We could watch a movie. Leonard has several old Terran films in his queue."

"That is amenable," said T'Pring.

"Nothing too loud," Spock added.

"Okay. Computer, bring up Leonard's queue on the aft wall, please."

"Scroll down."

"Stop. The second to last appears interesting, and of a decibel level comfortable for Spock."

"'...follows the life span of a white-tailed deer, whose forest faces sporadic invasion by Human hunting parties,'" Spock read. "A wild-life documentary, I presume."

"Sounds good. Computer, play selection, please."

–

The thing McCoy expected to come to was three glassy-eyed Vulcans watching the credits roll on a Disney film.

"Computer, lights to full, please," Sybok said hoarsely, wiping his eyes.

"Y'all enjoy your movie?" he smirked, leaning against the aft wall.

T'Pring glared at him. "Why would you ever willingly expose yourself to that level of torment?"

"It's a good movie. I used to watch a lot as a kid."

"That film is shown to children?" she asked, sounding vaguely scandalized.

"It's a kid's movie."

Spock stood up, straightened his tunic, mumbled something about needing to meditate, then took his leave. T'Pring followed soon after, stopping before she reached the door to tell McCoy there should be a warning on that film, just like with hardcore pornography.

Sybok stayed on the couch, staring off into the distance. "I think," he started weakly, "I think Sarek is the Prince of the Forest."

"Are you gonna cry?"

"No. I think I physically ran out of tears when Bambi's mom was shot."

McCoy crossed over to the couch, plopping down next to his boyfriend. "First Disney movie is always rough."

Sybok laid his head on the doctor's shoulder. "Sometimes I question my commitment to emotionalism."

McCoy ran his hands through Sybok's hair. "The good feelings tend to outweigh the bad ones."

"Tell that to Bambi's mother."

McCoy kissed the top his head. "Promise me you won't watch _Up_."


	2. Chapter 1: T'hy'las, Telepaths, and the Gorn

"I do not see vhy I heff to be here," Chekov said, crossing his arms. "I do not heff 'anger management problem.'"

"The population of Cestus III begs to differ, Ensign."

"Population of Cestus III is a bunch of cossacks."

"I don't know what that—or much of what you say—means, but you were banned from the planet. The entire planet. Do you know how difficult that is? It took me a year to get kicked off of Vulcan. You did it in the course of an afternoon."

"Vhat can I say? I am a prodigy."

"Is that hard for you?"

"Being a prodigy? It is fine."

"It just seems like it would be a lot of pressure. Everyone expects you to know all the answers. You have to be the best at..." Sybok had very little knowledge of how the ship was run, let alone who ran what. Of course, he knew that Chekov was the navigator, but what the navigator actually did was a complete mystery. "...pushing buttons and pulling levers."

"It's my job, same as anybody else's."

"That's true, but for you it's so much more. Your job responsibilities tie directly to your personal identity on this ship. Lieutenant Uhura is just as brilliant at languages as you are with... navigating and and the science things, but she's know on board for doing great impressions of people and being really fun at parties. I'm arguably the most psionically skilled Vulcan alive, but people know me for my mysterious past and roguish good looks. But you—you're Pavel the prodigy." Sybok mentally congratulated himself on the alliteration. "If you mess up on the bridge, your identity shatters. It's got to be a tremendous amount of pressure."

"Maybe it is," Chekov mumbled.

"It's important to release that pressure in a constructive way. What do you like to do in your off hours?"

"I run."

"Good. Exercise is great for relieving stress, as well as, for your health. Weight gain is endemic to deep space voyages. Most people forget to take time for themselves out here. It's good that you can."

"I vill never get fat. I heff alvays been in the normal range for my height and veight. And I intend to keep it zat vay. Zat is vhy I run. And, also, so vhen ve get back, I vill vin the Academy marathon."

"Let's just say, you didn't win. What would happen then?"

"I vould probably kill something."

"Okay... Do you have any other hobbies? Anything not competitive or homicide inducing?"

"I am a prodigy. I do not heff time for hobbies."

"Let's make some time. I am officially appointing you as ship photographer. It's your job to take photos of social events on board and, um, compile them into one volume that could serve as a piece of memorabilia for the crew. Something they can take home with them after the mission has ended."

"A yearbook, you mean?"

"Ideally, you would have pictures from the remaining two years of the tour."

"No, a yearbook is—"

The ship rocked, throwing Chekov and Sybok to the deck. "What the hell was—"

"All available crew to battle stations," the ship computer ordered.

"What if you don't have a battle station? What do you do then?" Sybok shouted frantically.

"Do you heff any furniture outfitted vith seat belts?"

"No... But my bed has chains! Would that work?"

"It vill heff to."

Sybok and Chekov army crawled to the bedroom, and shackled themselves to Sybok's bed. A few tense minutes later, the view screen on the starboard wall flipped on, showing Spock in the captain's chair. "Counselor, please report to the bridge immediately, The captain—why are you and Ensign Chekov chained to your bed?" The faces of the rest of the bridge crew plus Dr. McCoy peaked into the frame.

"He was removed from duty and we were having a therapy session. I was trying to relieve his stress, and he was going to take pictures. Then—boom!—we were on the floor. And I don't have a battle station, so... yeah."

The bridge crew collectively raised an eyebrow. "I see," Spock said. "The captain has been kidnapped by a race known as the Metrons. They have placed him and the captain of the vessel with which we were engaged in combat on a unknown planet to fight to the death, using only items found on the planet."

"Oh, shit."

"Indeed. The Metrons have refused to listen to us. It is my hope that you will be more successful. Please report to the bridge immediately."

"Yeah. Sure. I'll be there as soon as I can find the key."

"It's in the top drawer of your nightstand," grumbled McCoy.

"Thank you, honey."

–

"Metron, I... summon you?"

A fey—if chalky—boy in a toga popped onto the bridge. "We have already stated that we will not stand for violence in our home space. Nothing you can say will change our decision."

"Okay, but don't you find it a little ironic that you're trying to punish and prevent violent acts through violence? As I understand it, the Gorn vessel attacked us for venturing into their space, and we attacked them for venturing into ours, and now you're threatening to destroy one of the ships for the same reason. It's possible that, in a few minutes, something bigger and badder will come along and attack you for you being in their space, and then something even more massive will attack them, and then it'll just turn into some ridiculous Russian doll situation."

"A matroyshka, do you mean?"

"Yes. Thank you, Ensign. A matroyshka situation. We could have that on our hands. Wouldn't it just be better if we all sat down and talked this out?"

"Your kind have demonstrated an inability to have intelligent conversation."

"Well, if we can't talk it out, at least send me down to planet to fight in Captain Kirk's stead."

The Metron seemed to consider this for a moment. "Your selflessness has demonstrated that your ilk have the potential to evolve into a civilized society. Your captain and your ship will be spared."

"Really?"

"No. But we will allow you to watch the fight." The Metron dissolved, leaving a hologram of the action on the planet in his place.

Sybok turned to the bridge crew. "I tried."

"When I asked you to manipulate the Metron into freeing the captain, I meant on a psionic level," explained Spock.

"Couldn't you have brainwashed him into letting us go?" Sulu asked.

"First of all, I can't brainwash something that doesn't have a brain. The Metron are not life as we know it. They're much older and powerful than anything the Federation has come across. Even if their representative had a corporeal form I could manipulate, he would probably be so advanced that he'd be able to block me. Secondly, why does everybody think I go around brainwashing people?"

"That's what I'd do, if I had your kind of power," Riley said. Uhura, Sulu, and Chekov nodded their agreement.

The turbolift doors opened, with Cupcake seeming to burst from them. "What—do—I—have—to—shoot?" he asked breathlessly.

"There's nothing to shoot," answered Sulu.

"There's—always—something—to—shoot."

"Sit down before you hurt yourself," McCoy ordered.

Cupcake declined. "There has to be something we can do."

"All we can do is watch." Spock gestured to the hologram.

Cupcake staggered down to the holograph, passing his hand through the running form of the captain. "I'm not going stand here and watch him die."

"There's nothing else we can do," Uhura said, with an even voice.

"Yeah, well, what if it were T'Pring?" He swung around to face Spock. "Or M'Benga? Or..." He turned to Sulu. "...one of your plants? What then?"

"Then there'd still be nothing we could do," said Sulu through his teeth.

Cupcake resigned himself to sitting on the deck next to Kirk's hologram. The crew watched for hours as the captain ran from the Gorn captain, knowing full well that he would soon tire and be killed by his stronger opponent. Never one to sit and do nothing, Spock scanned captures of the hologram through the computer, in hopes of finding materials on the planet's surface that Kirk could use as a weapon. It was a deeply illogical pursuit, seeing as Spock had no way of communicating his findings to the captain. Still, it seemed better than doing nothing.

"Found anything, yet?" Sulu asked from his chair.

"Nothing significant. There are diamonds on the surface, but they are far too small to be an effective weapon. The dominant form of vegetation is similar to bamboo, and thus too light to be used as a club."

"What else?"

"Chromium, sulfur, coal, iron ore, potassium nitrate, calcareous mollusk sh—"

"Wait, wait!" Sulu said, standing up from his console. "That's—he can use that!"

"What?" Cupcake asked, crossing to the conn.

"Sulfur, coal, and potassium nitrate. That's—"

"That's gunpowder!"

"There's bamboo and diamonds. He can make a cannon!"

"We're saved!" Cupcake grabbed Sulu's forearms, and the two weapons enthusiasts jumped up and down in a circle.

After getting over their initial bout of excitement, Sulu and Cupcake, along with the rest of the crew on the bridge, watched Kirk run past the deposits of sulfur, coal, and potassium nitrate at least fifty times without noticing them. Finally, after an hour, Kirk began to gather items from the planet's surface. At one point, he even had the necessary minerals lined up next to each other, only to use them as face paint.

"We're doomed," Chekov moaned.

"How is he not getting this?" Riley asked, gesticulating wildly. "He was in the command track. He had to take Ancient Terran Warfare to graduate. There was a whole lecture on gunpowder!"

"The class was at six in the morning. He never went," McCoy explained. "He only passed because he bought his notes off of someone."

"Someone who already knew the composition of the gunpowder and thus felt no need to write it down," Spock speculated.

The entire bridge glared at Sulu. "What? I needed the money. I didn't know it would get us all killed."

"I am too young and attractive to die!" holo-Kirk shouted, falling to his knees.

"We're so close," Cupcake muttered. "He has all the materials. We have all the information. If only we..."

"Had an extremely powerful telepath who could tell Kirk what to do?" Uhura finished.

All eyes on the bridge shifted to Sybok. "What? I couldn't possibly... I can see the psionic field farther than most, but we don't even know where he is, if he's anywhere at all! I'm sorry but it's just not possible. I want to—" Sybok crumpled to the deck, grabbing his gut in pain.

McCoy ran to his side. "What's wrong?"

"It's happening," Sybok babbled. "It's happening right now. I've never been there when it's happened."

"What's happening?"

"Cupcake. This is his most painful memory: the moment he realized he couldn't save Jim." Sybok struggled to his feet, swaying slightly as he walked over to Cupcake. "You love him?"

"Yes," the security chief whispered.

"So much that it's scary." Sybok spared a glance at McCoy. "Would you die for him? Not because he's captain and it's your job to protect him, but because your every instinct tells you that you and the universe you live in couldn't go on without him?"

Cupcake nodded.

"I just needed to be sure." He turned to Uhura. "Get T'Pring and Scotty up here as fast as you can." He smiled. "Good news, everyone. We might not die."

"You have a plan, I assume."

"That'd be about right, Spock. Humans, as you know, have even less awareness of their katras than we do, and they're much more willing to give their hearts, as they say, to others. In Vulcans, katric bindings are an intense effort involving an intermediary. But, in Humans, it's pure happenstance. Most of the time, katric bonds between Humans are solely familial, usually between a mother and child, but, sometimes it occurs between—there's not really a word for it in Standard. I guess a mixture of twin brother, best friend, and lover. T'hy'la."

"I thought t'hy'la was a term of endearment," Uhura said.

"Yeah. I hear Spock and M'Benga call each other that all the time," McCoy added.

"That's true, but that's just the modern usage. T'hy'la originated as mythic homosocial relationship between two great warriors in pre-Surakian Vulcan culture. The term was discovered and appropriated by gay men shortly before Reformation, in hopes that it would help them gain more rights. Over the years, it evolved into a petname, roughly translating to 'pooki.'"

For Spock's ears to turn any greener, they'd have to be photosynthetic.

"Fortunately for all of us, Kirk and Cupcake are the ancient, mythic type of t'hy'la. I can meld with Cupcake, and send a message to Kirk through their bond. That is, if Kirk is in our plane of existence. If the Metron sent him through time or to another universe, we're all fucked."

T'Pring and Scotty stepped out of the turbolift. "What do ye need?"

"Power. After me, T'Pring, and Spock, you have the highest psi rating of anyone on board. The four of us combined will have enough power to contact the captain."

"I dinna have any manner of telepathy. I'm the bloody mechanic! Ye got to be—McCoy, I swear, if ye say anything like that about my mother again, I will kill ye!"

The doctor smirked. "I didn't say anything."

Scotty's eyes bulged. "Ye gods! How did ye—"

"It's in your medical file, Scotty."

"Your psych profile, too," Sybok added. "Frankly, you're a textbook case of a minor telepath in a non-telepathic species. You can hear thoughts directed at you, and spend most of your time alone to avoid psionic interference. Standard psych tests diagnose you with ADHD or autism spectrum disorder."

"Why did no one ever tell me?"

"It was in Starfleet's best interest to never tell you. If you knew, you might have chosen to resign your commission to go develop your talents further."

"What do ye need me tae do?"

"I need all of us—Spock, T'Pring, Cupcake, too—to sit next to the hologram." The five crewmen walked down to the view screen. Sybok positioned Cupcake closest to holo-Kirk, then sat next to him. The counselor then directed T'Pring to sit beside him, with Spock between her and Scotty. "In order of psionic power," Sybok explained, causing T'Pring to smirk at Spock. "Join hands," he ordered, placing his right hand on Cupcake's face. "Fair warning, we all could die in the process. But, we'd die if we didn't try, so it's a wash. Ready, kids?"

"Ready."

"Ready."

"Ready."

"Ready."

"Alright, I'm going in." Sybok delved into Cupcake's consciousness, searching around for his katra. There were baseball statistics, family vacations, then the overpowering taste of peanut butter. He followed along that path, until he tasted Reese's peanut butter cups. He went through the candy into a stream of pure chocolate. "I've got him." He swam against the tide of the chocolate, pushing to get to Kirk's mind. "I'm not enough. Open the flood gates, T'Pring." A vine of a yon-savas curled around his body, thrusting him up stream, but he made little progress. "Hit me, Spock." A fek-kastik shoot appeared under Sybok's belly. He wrapped his arms and legs around the stock, which took off toward Kirk's consciousness. But the current was too strong. "Scotty, go!"

"I dinnae know what I'm—"

"Yes, you do."

"No, I dinnae."

"Just push, you limey bastard!"

"I am nae British!"

A thick metal chain circled around Sybok, squeezing him tightly while yanking him forward. The chocolate parted in front of him. He shot forward, stopping just short of Kirk's mind. "Scotty, I need more power."

"I'm givin' ye all I've got, counselor!"

"Tartan is tacky, this ship is a rust bucket, and your mother is a whore!"

Sybok surged into the bright light of Kirk's consciousness. There he could see the craggy surface of the arena planet. //Captain Kirk.//

"Who's there?"

//It's Sybok.//

//And T'Pring.//

//And Spock.//

//And Scotty.//

"Scotty? What are you doing in my head?"

//I'm a telepath.//

"Really?"

//Aye. Who knew?//

Sybok pushed the others into the background. //We don't have much time. Coal, sulfur, and potassium nitrate make gunpowder. Use it to fire a cannon filled with diamonds at the Gorn. Can you do that?//

"Yeah."

//Good. I have to pass out, now.//

–

The first thing Sybok heard when he came to was Cupcake shouting, "Kill it, kill it, kill it!"

The Vulcan slowly opened his eyes and rolled his head to the side to face the hologram. Holo-Kirk had the Gorn pinned to the ground, holding a large rock over his head. The captain dropped the rock on the ground, and stood up. "You want me do it? You want me to kill a man... or a man-shaped lizard for your enjoyment? I won't do it." Kirk walked off, stopping to stay, "And you think we're the savages."

The Metron appeared before Kirk. "By sparing your helpless enemy who surely would have destroyed you, you demonstrated the advanced trait of mercy. Something we hardly expected. Although you achieved your victory through your shipmates cheating--"

"We didn't cheat. We merely changed the parameters of the exam."

"--we will allow you and your ship to live. You are still half savage. But there is hope."

"Go fuck yourself."

Holo-Kirk flashed out of existence, being replaced by actual Kirk, who was quickly tackled by Cupcake.

McCoy helped Sybok to his feet. "You up for glad-we-didn't-just-die sex?"

"That's my favorite kind," Sybok said as he was lead to the turbolift. "You know, after make-up sex, and wake-up sex, and laundry day sex, and Tuesday sex, and Kwanzaa sex..."


	3. Chapter 2: Vulcan Bites

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Sybok sighed, standing up from his meditation mat. "If I don't open the door when I feel you're out there, I probably don't want to see you," he mumbled, blowing out his candles. With a thought, he activated the opening mechanism of his door.

The captain walked in, looking none too pleased. "What the hell took you so long?"

"Captain, I require at three hours of meditation every day to stave off a very pesky part of my heritage thats dormancy is in the best interest of the ship and quite possibly the galaxy. My contract with Starfleet guarantees me five hours of uninterrupted solitary leisure, three of which I use for meditation and the remainder I use for scrapbooking. Now, unless we're being attacked by a horde of mutant Klingonized killer bees that require a bit of talk therapy, I suggest you toddle off back to the bridge. Go on, scoot."

Kirk rolled up his sleeve, shoving his right forearm in Sybok's face. "See this? Why do I have this?"

The counselor inspected his arm. It was bruised and puffy, with what looked like bite marks. "Listen, you can't come crying to me every time your new role play scenario doesn't pan out. I told you two to choose a safeword."

"Look closer, counselor," Kirk said through gritted teeth. "See in the front? The extra teeth?"

"Anterior tricuspids. This is a Vulcan bite."

"Bingo. I was doing a routine inspection in engineering. When I came up to T'Pring's work station, she bit me."

"Well," Sybok said, lowering himself onto one of the arms of his therapy couch. "It's hardly out of character. T'Pring's always been a biter."

"Counselor, your sex life is far less interesting to me than it is to you."

"No, not like that. No, when she was little, she was a biter. She used to bite people. All the time. When she'd visit Spock, I couldn't get within a meter of her without getting bit. She'd grown out of it by the time she turned eleven."

"Apparently not. I can't have my engineers biting people any more than I can have my first officer wearing sunglasses on the bridge."

"Vulcans do not wear sunglasses. It's completely redundant. Our eyes can handle massive amounts of UV radiation."

"Tell that to Spock. He seems very attached to them. I asked him to take them off and he said, and I quote, 'You are not my father. You cannot tell me what to do.'"

"Spock said that? That hardly seems like him."

"That's why I'm here. Is there anything going on with T'Pring and Spock that I should know about?"

"No. They've been as stoic and self-important as ever. Do you ever think it could have been something you did? I'm not saying you're at fault here, but their actions seem to be direct challenges to your authority. You go over to T'Pring's station to inspect her work and she bites you, which denies your right to supervise her. Spock wears sunglasses—a flagrant violation of dress code—just to test how far he can push you. It may seem wildly immature, but this is probably their attempt to notify you of their dissatisfaction with your captaincy. Have you done anything lately that might warrant this kind of reaction?"

"You mean this kind of reaction?" Kirk shook his bruised arm.

"A challenge of authority."

"No, I've been the picture of the perfect captaincy. In fact, the other day, Spock said he respected my opinion. And, T'Pring, she didn't boo me at karaoke last week. I think I'm making progress with my Vulcans."

" _Your_ Vulcans? Despite the feline ancestry, we aren't pets, sir."

"See! You even called me 'sir'! Progress."

"As long as these remain to be isolated incidents, I recommend you not to take disciplinary action."

"Of course, _you'd_ say that."

"If you discipline them, you'll end up alienating them further, or, worse, they'll defy you more. Let me talk to them first. I think this can all be resolved rather quickly. Worst case scenario, I'll have to bring you in for some conflict counseling with them."

"I hope you're—" Kirk's communicator crackled.

"Sickbay to Kirk," said McCoy through the comm.

"Kirk here."

"We've got a problem of the pointy-eared variety."

"Another biting?"

"I should be so lucky. T'Pring drop-kicked Keenser into a bulkhead."

"Is he alright?"

"Yeah. Apparently his people used to serve as footballs for the ruling species of his planet. T'Pring, on the other hand, has holed herself up in the ship's ventilation system. Security's tried to get her, but she's too fast. Now, M'Benga'a got a sedative that only affects Vulcans. We've tried to set off a small grenade of it near her, but she moves to the other side of the ship as soon as she hears us coming. We can flood the ship with it, and locate her once she's passed out, but Spock and Sybok would also get knocked out. I need your go ahead before I get Scotty to inject it into the air supply."

"Are you sure that it won't hurt anyone?"

"Yeah. It's a plant compound from Vulcan that coevolved with the race. Vulcans have been using it as a sleep aid for centuries. Geoff says that, at worst, it would make the crew slightly happier for about half an hour."

"Tell Scotty to fire away. Kirk out."

Sybok glared at the captain. "Are you fucking with me, or did you actually order your CMO to anesthetize every crew member of the Vulcan race in order to catch one Vulcan? That's—that's racial profiling!"

"It was your boyfriend's idea."

"I know, and he'll get his later, but, now, you. You're the fucking captain! You can't just do shit like this. You're not in bumfuck, Iowa anymore. You have to be cognizant of how your actions feed into the intersectional oppressions foisted on your crew by a largely patriarchal, Terran supremacist culture. You wouldn't dream of knocking out all the Humans onboard like this."

"There are a lot more Humans than Vulcans in this crew."

"And I wonder why, what with the whole near complete genocide of the species and Starfleet's obvious bias towards Humans."

"And you think the VSA is any less biased towards Vulcans than Starfleet is to Humans? Vulcan culture is one of the most xenophobic in the Federation."

"That's true, and you won't see me parading around defending them, but it still doesn't change the fact that you need shape up or ship the fuck out when it comes to race relations. The genetic makeup of Starfleet is changing. Fewer Humans are willing to enlist after the Narada incident, which allows room for so-called aliens from within and without the Federation. Only a third of this year's graduating class at the Academy is Human. A third. The majority of new crewmen joining us in the next mission will not be Human, and they will not stand for this Terracentric bullshit. If you want to have a career in Starfleet, you better pull your head out of your ass and decentralize yourself, comprende vous?"

Kirk smiled, and wrapped his arms around the counselor. "You're my favorite." Sybok tried to scoot away, but Kirk just squeezed him tighter. "Your hair smells so good."

"I don't think that's my hair." Sybok sniffed the air. "Oh, for fuck's—" He collapsed in the captain's arms.

–

Sybok was pleasantly surprised to wake up on a biobed in sickbay instead of in a cage. His jubilation was cut short when he tried to sit up, only to be pushed down by the grav restraints. "McCoy! M'Benga! Chapel! Anybody..."

M'Benga stepped through the curtains surrounding the bed. "Sorry about that." The doctor flipped a switch on the wall, disabling the restraints. "You started running in your sleep. I thought you might fall off the bed."

As he eased himself into a sitting position, Sybok vaguely recalled a dream about chasing butterflies. "How are Spock and T'Pring?"

"Not great. Heightened cortisol levels, flushed skin, jacked up hormones, screaming whenever anyone comes near them."

Sybok stood up, straightening his robes. "I think it's time, then."

"What? No. I am not ready for that!"

"No, no. Time with a little t."

"Oh. That's... Time for what?"

"Spock and T'Pring's brains are struggling over the final hurdle of neural maturity."

"Shad-vin? I considered it, but they're both too young. And, even if they were old enough, the onsets wouldn't be simultaneous."

"Yeah, um," Sybok looked down at his sandals. "I might've, uh, done something when I used their psionic power to reach the captain."

"Something as in creating a life or death situation where survival depends on a rapid increase in psionic abilities?"

"Yeah, that sort of something."

M'Benga sighed. "Seeing as this falls outside the area of my expertise, and firmly in yours, I'll transfer them to under your care."

Sybok, reenergized with the sudden acquisition of the slightest amount of power, stood up, placing his hands on his hips like some variety of pointy-eared superhero. "Knock them out and deliver them unto my quarters."

"What are you going to do?"

"Ready them for their arrival to Vulcan adulthood."

–

" _Snow White_ or _The Wizard of Oz_?"

T'Pring and Spock stared at Sybok, bleary eyed from their recent reemergence into consciousness.

"Okay, how about _Singin' in the Rain_? Or _Some Like it Hot_?"

The younger Vulcans shared a look, then rose from the floor, heading toward the door.

"No, no, no," said Sybok, placing himself between them and the exit. "No one's leaving. Just sit down and we'll all watch a movie."

T'Pring folded her arms across her chest. "We have work that needs to be completed."

"Alpha shift will not end for another thirty-seven minutes," Spock said. "If we do not return to our work stations, ship productivity will fall an eighth of a percentage point."

Sybok sighed. "Neither of you are in any shape to work."

"I can decide that for myself," T'Pring snapped.

"Just like how you decided to bite the captain? Or kick Keenser into a bulkhead?"

Spock turned to T'Pring. "It appears you may be emotionally compromised. It would be best if you stayed here and meditated. I will notify Mr. Scott that you will not be returning to work." Spock stepped around Sybok, now only inches from the door.

"No, no. You, too, Spock. Sit down."

"No."

"Sit."

"No."

"Sit!"

A pillow flew into Spock's chest, pushing him across the room and onto the couch. "That is not fair," he said, struggling to free himself from the pillow's embrace.

"You cannot keep us prisoner here," T'Pring snarled.

"If you haven't noticed, I can do pretty much anything I want. Now, both of you, sit."

T'Pring, not wanting to suffer the indignity of being manhandled by Sybok's furniture, sat on the couch next to Spock.

"Good. Spock, why did you wear sunglasses to shift today?"

He squirmed under the pillow. "I had a migraine, which caused increased light sensitivity."

"And, why didn't you explain that to the captain when he asked you to remove them?"

"Kirk has no business determining what I wear. I am an adult. I can wear whatever I wish."

"Okay, that's... kind of crazy, but, anyway, T'Pring, why did you bite the captain?"

"He was being very loud. I asked him to be quiet, but he continued speaking."

"What was he saying?"

"Typical Human nonsense. 'Lunch soon. Don't want salad. Spock say I get fat. Don't want fat. Scotty get fat. Together run, eat salad. Caesar. No cheese. Fat. Fat. Fat. Do not want. Sandwich good. No, bad. Fat bad. No want bald. No toupee. Bad.'"

"Did you see his lips move when he was talking?"

"No, I was concentrating on my work."

"Do you think the captain may be some sort of ventriloquist?" Spock asked, hopefully.

"No, I think T'Pring might have been overhearing his thoughts. That's usually what people's thoughts sound like around lunchtime."

Spock looked mildly disappointed.

"I was not eavesdropping. I was shielding at my usual level."

"Your usual level is not good enough anymore. You two have started shad-vin."

"No, that is impossible. We are too young," Spock protested.

"All the symptoms are there: headaches, a leap in psionic ability, irritability."

"But how?" asked T'Pring. "Spock is correct. We are not old enough."

Sybok sat across from them on an over-stuffed chair. "I... When we combined our powers to communicate with the captain through his bond with Cupcake, I created a biological imperative for you both to heighten your powers, triggering shad-vin."

"You are to blame for this?"

"Yeah."

T'Pring grabbed the pillow restraining Spock and threw it at Sybok, who was able to stop it in seconds before it hit his face.

"Hey! Don't get pissy with me. It's better you get this over with now, while you still have a psion-shielded room to hide in." Sybok gestured at his walls.

T'Pring harrumphed, then settled back into the couch. Spock sunk his head into her shoulder, covering his eyes with her hair. "My head aches."

Sybok crossed over to the couch, sitting next to Spock. "I know," he said, rubbing small circles on his brother's back. "It'll get better, I promise."

"I have the illogical desire to throw something against the bulkhead," Spock said, his voice muffled by T'Pring's shoulder, "but that would only create more noise, exacerbating my migraine."

"Do you want to watch a movie?"

"I want to cut my face open to drain the swollen blood vessels from my brain. I can feel them rupturing, destroying neurons." Spock looked up from T'Pring's shoulder. "I cherish my neurons." Sybok leaned over to kiss Spock's temple, which made the younger Vulcan scoot closer to T'Pring.

"Someone's cranky," Sybok grumbled. "Cut the sass or I might nerve pinch you."

"Would you?" Spock asked pathetically. "I have not slept in three-point-eight days."

"I would appreciate a rest period, as well," added T'Pring.

"Sure. We'll work on getting your new abilities under control when you wake up." He reached over, pinching Spock and then T'Pring. "Good night."

–

Sybok was really far away. Farther away than he'd ever been before without the aid of certain herbal supplements. He was floating over himself, watching a faded version of the day's events as he catalogued his emotional responses. That day was difficult—or the start of something difficult. It was one thing to not turn into a snarling, raving, jungle beast ready to claim a mate, when his biggest challenger was a psi-null pretty boy captain with a boyfriend. It was an entirely different experience to have two psionically mature Vulcans on board, one of whom having a highly improbable friendship with his potential mate. At any moment, T'Pring and Spock could run down to sickbay and take Leonard. Not if Sybok got there first.

No. No. Let's examine those feelings. They were not based in reality. They were little fingers trying to drag him into the flame.

Let's pour some water on that blaze. One, McCoy was his in all but bond and paperwork. Two, T'Pring and Spock were already taken. Three, even if they weren't, they wouldn't go after McCoy, because of how it would hurt Sybok. Four, even if they didn't care about hurting Sybok, they knew he would disembowel them if they laid a finger on McCoy.

Now, all he had to do was kill Scotty. Newly discovered Human telepaths were highly unpredictable. Scotty may have seemed mostly harmless, but who knew when he would go power mad and take over the ship, claiming his old drinking buddy as his queen. It was decided then. Sybok would kill Scotty at his earliest convenience.

Wait. No. That was just the creeping pon farr talking. Sybok liked Scotty, and, while no great fan of Surak, as far as possible, he did not kill.

This is why he needed those three hours of meditation a day. It's obvious that if people kept interrupting him, he would quickly devolve into a savage killer, hell bent on—

A shriek crashed into Sybok's ears, making him float back into himself. He scrambled to his feet, cursing under his breath. He hurried out of his bedroom and into the living room, finding T'Pring alone on the couch, her eyes closed and mouth open in a howl. He grabbed T'Pring by the shoulders, gently shaking her. Her eyes popped open, but she kept screaming. "Kroykah!"

T'Pring did, indeed, stop immediately, but only to dissolve into a fit of sobs. "I am alone."

"Yeah. Where'd Spock go?"

"No. I," she pointed to her head, "am alone."

"Oh," he sat down by her on the couch. "Yeah. That can be unsetting at first."

"It is not unsettling. It is torturous."

"It'll get better, I promise."

She got off the couch, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I must find Nyota."

He grabbed her forearm. "That would be a very bad idea right now."

She shook him off. "Little care I."

"Little care you when you end up bonded to the first ensign you see in the hallway."

"I must... I cannot continue to..."

"Feel strong, uncontrollable emotion? Because that's what you're going to get every single day when you bond yourself to a Human. Especially if the bond is forced."

"I would never do that to Nyota."

"Honey, right now, you would bond yourself to a tea kettle."

T'Pring stared wistfully at the tea pot on Sybok's coffee table. "Why am I considering that as a viable option?"

"Because shad-vin is making you crazy. You've got a metric fuck ton of new powers to adjust to, and rather than deal with your new capacity for mental bonds, your brain wants you to take the easy way out and bond with the first thing with a neuron."

"How do I make the loneliness stop?"

"However you deal with your other emotions, which, I'm guessing, is by repressing them and hoping they go away." He smoothed his hair back. "You could try journaling. Just write down what you're feeling. I know I have a few blank PADDs somewhere." He jumped over the back of the couch, walking into the kitchen. He rummaged through the upper cupboards, but to no avail. He opened the cabinet under the sink, and was handed a PADD. "Thanks." He started toward the living room, but turned around, kneeling down, opening the cabinet once again. "Spock, why are you hiding in my cupboard?"

Spock cowered behind the garbage disposal. "They are coming for me."

"Who? Who's coming for you?"

"Emotions."

"Your emotions are coming for you?"

Spock nodded.

"So, you decided to hide from them in my kitchen cabinet?"

"If I am quiet, they will not find me here."

"Spock, you didn't light any of the incense in the living room, did you? Because that's not incense."

"No. I was sleeping, and they began to attack me. I had to hide, lest they devour my brain."

"Well, I, uh, I just spoke with your emotions, and they said they mean you no harm. They want to be friends."

"Are you certain they were not purposefully misleading you?"

"I'm sure. Emotions are always honest." Sybok offered his brother a hand, which was taken hesitantly, and pulled Spock out of the cupboard. "See? They won't hurt you. Give this to T'Pring," he said, handing Spock the PADD. "Try to meditate, if you can."

Spock wandered back into the living room, looking slightly dazed, like someone coming out of a trance.

Sybok had little knowledge of what to do next. It was a unique situation to be sure. Shad-vin without pon farr was rarity in and of itself, but shad-vin without a katric bond mate waiting in the wings was unheard of, present company excluded. Shad-vin was either triggered by the maturation of a freakishly psionically gifted Vulcan, or a life-or-death scenario faced by a less-gifted Vulcan. By and large, it was triggered by the second option, with pon farr constituting as a fuck-and-bond-or-die scenario where the immaturity of either partner meant death for both. That's why he was resolute in refusing T'Pring her intended. No matter how consensual a bond may be, only a psionically mature Vulcan can take on the wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am mental bonding brought on by pon farr. It was possible that T'Pring could restrain herself more only being shad-vin, but that was a risk Sybok was unwilling to take. Uhura was good to no one dead, or, best case scenario, having a brain with the consistency of a savas smoothie, no boost, please.

Shad-vin surrounded almost entirely by non-telepathic beings was another aberration. Typically, a shad-vin Vulcan would go about her day as usual, not having to worry about so much psionic interference being on a planet with a smaller immigrant population than 21st century Japan. He would just have to keep the both of them locked up in here, until they adjusted to their new abilities.

Right. So factoring in the infamous Vulcan distaste for involuntary confinement and Spock and T'Pring's superior knowledge of the ship's computers, Sybok estimated that he had about three and a half hours to bring the younger Vulcans up to speed on mental maturity. That wasn't too bad. It had only taken him three weeks to ride out his shad-vin, so he'd just have to go 168 times faster.

That could work, right?

–

After twenty minutes of intense journaling, T'Pring had two words and a smattering of punctuation written down: "I feel...?"

"That's good," Sybok said, upon review. "Admitting you have feelings is the first step. Now you just need to specify what you feel."

T'Pring snatched the PADD, wrote for a quick moment, then presented it for Sybok's approval. "I feel chair," it read.

"Okay, but chair isn't a feeling."

"But I feel chair." She pointed to the overstuffed chair she was sitting in.

"Not what you feel on the outside. What you feel here." Sybok placed his hand over T'Pring's heart. "What do you feel?"

"Your hand."

Sybok ran his hands through his hair, restraining himself from pulling it out at the roots. "Let's try something else. What do you feel when you think of Lt. Uhura?"

"Blood rushing to my clitoris."

He allowed himself a sigh. "You keep plugging away on that. I'm gonna go check on Spock."

–

Spock wasn't fairing that much better.

"Hey," Sybok said, poking his head into his bedroom. "How are the hypnosis microtapes going?"

"I have not experienced any decrease in paranoia," Spock replied, never turning his eyes away from the firepot, "but I do believe I am no longer addicted to nicotine."

–

Having exhausted all traditional methods of analysis, Sybok resorted to one that most definitely was not sanctioned by the Terran Psychiatric Association. "Gimme your face," he ordered T'Pring, who gave a cursory glance at Spock. "Come on. Give it." She rested her face on Sybok's waiting palm. "My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts..."

T'Pring's mind was, like her diet and closet, color coordinated. This was going to be easier than Sybok thought. There, in the green section, mixed in with broccoli and her new pumps, was T'Pring's anger type feelings. Blue was uncertainty. Red was happiness. Yellow was sadness. It was very much the standard Vulcan interpretation of color.

 _Pringle,_ he thought, for in his mind she would always go by Amanda's nickname. _Baby sehlats._

Red and yellow shined.

 _Do you see that?_ he pointed and felt her nod. _Good. T'Pau._

The green almost burned Sybok's eyes.

 _Uhura._

All four colors blazed.

 _Do you understand the emotion thing now?_ She nodded. _Take me to your shields_ The landscape changed into a scorching desert. _I want you to extend this as far as you can, and then, after you're back on duty, scale it back little by little until you can hear Human thoughts, then extend it just enough so that can't hear them._

Sybok pulled out of T'Pring's mind and back into his living room. While still visibly distressed, T'Pring had an air of calm about her now. She bowed her head, then walked silently into Sybok's bedroom, presumably to meditate.

Sybok reached his hand toward Spock, but younger Vulcan shook his head. "I do not believe that will be necessary." Spock passed his brother a PADD.

"What's this?"

"I believe you called it a journal. I wrote it while you were within T'Pring."

"Can I?"

"It is typically customary to keep such writings private, however, as I indulged myself in reading many of your logs as a child, it would only be fair to allow you access to mine. Especially considering that you are the ship's counselor."

Sybok was touched, really. Spock was giving him a front row seat to his emotions, and he finally acknowledged his role on the Enterprise. Maybe things— "Wait. You read my diary?"

Spock smirked, then headed into Sybok's bedroom. "I will join T'Pring in meditation."

Sybok swiped the PADD on, grumbling something about throwing annoying younger brothers in the ship's swimming pool.

The journal entry started, in true Spock fashion, with the stardate, then devolved into semi-coherent rambling. "Today," it read. "Me: angry paranoid purple guava. Captain: stupid donkey. Geoffrey: v. handsome. T'Pring: scary. Sybok: bossy. Mother: still dead."

Well, it was a start.

–

Sybok set down his martini glass-shaped hole puncher when he felt the Captain waiting patiently in the hall. "That's more like it." The door swished open.

"Counselor," Kirk nodded, heading over to Sybok's craft nook.

"Captain."

"So," Kirk picked up a glue gun. "This is where you... Does scrapbook work as a verb?"

"Yeah. That's very hot, by the way."

"I'm not a child. I'm not going to—Ow." Kirk dropped the glue gun, and proceeded to suck on his finger.

Sybok carefully averted his eyes. "You do realize that you are, in essence, performing auto-fellatio in front of me?"

"What?" Kirk said around his finger.

"Hands are a major erogenous zone in Vulcans, comparable in nerve endings to the Human penis."

The captain's mouth fell open, releasing his finger. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"That's why you don't shake hands."

"Exactly. And we don't eat—what do you call it?—finger foods without gloves."

"Ever?"

"Sometimes. In an erotic context. One of the most common Vulcan pick-ups is 'forgetting' to put on gloves before eating fruit."

"So, all those times I've eaten an apple on the bridge..."

"You've effectively been propositioning Spock for casual sex."

"Good god. They don't teach you this stuff at the Academy."

"Maybe they should."

"I'll message Pike about it. I'll definitely have to arrange a diversity seminar before the next mission."

"I think I could handle that."

"Oh. Good."

"What?"

"I thought you'd be taking your toys and going home after your tour ended."

Sybok snorted. "For all intents and purposes, this ship is my home. I've run out of planets to squat on. Starfleet says they'll wipe clean my juvenile record, and grant me Terran citizenship, when I finish a full tour of duty. So, it's five more years for me."

"Y'know," Kirk scratched the back of his head. "Starfleet wasn't my first choice either. I swore I'd never set foot off Earth after... What?"

"Nothing." Sybok grabbed his side. "I... It's nothing."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"Okay. Well, anyway, I just wanna know, if, in some hypothetical universe, you could leave Starfleet now, would you?"

"Why do you ask?"

"As your captain, I have to know if you're happy here."

"Off the record, captain?"

"Completely."

"I am the happiest I've ever been in my life, and that scares the hell out of me. I've never had many people who care about or depend on me. I've been on my own since I was seventeen, and, now I have a thousand-odd crew members under my care, and people—Spock, T'Pring, Lehnard—"

"Leonard," the captain corrected.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

Kirk shook his head.

"No, well, I've got them and they're all caring and interdependent, and I don't know if I can do this. Yesterday, Spock and T'Pring were relying on me alone to help them. I'm no stranger to helping people; it's my job, but with them, the stakes were too high. I was paralyzed with fear."

"That doesn't matter. You got through it, and they're okay now. We all have that moment where we freeze, and we other shake ourselves out of it and get back to work, or someone dies. This isn't a normal job, and if you don't think you can handle the pressure—"

"I can handle the pressure of my job. It's the pressure of my private life I'm having trouble with. I've never been in a serious relationship before. I've always just slept around, and now there's this person who's there and asking me, 'What are you thinking about?' I don't know. The same thing I was thinking about the last time you asked me five minutes ago."

"Tell me about it. Daniel's always like, 'What do you wanna do this weekend?' We live in space! We don't have weekends!'"

"Yeah, and then they're like, 'I'm too tired; let's just cuddle.'"

"I don't want to fucking cuddle!"

"I know!"

"Men."

"Seriously."

"I'm not gonna take that shit anymore. I'm just gonna be straight up like, 'Why did you come over, if you—'" Kirk's communicator crackled. "Kirk here. Hey, baby. No, that's cool. Yeah, I'll meet you at eight. In the observation deck. Okay. Love you too, pookie. Bye."

"Pookie?"

Kirk stuffed the communicator back into his pocket. "Shut up."


	4. Chapter 3: Time to Get Naked

"Ugh," Chapel groaned, poking at her wilting salad. "I am so sick of reconstituted food."

"It's not like the galley is any better." M'Benga sniffed at his sandwich. "There's mayonnaise on this. Every time with the mayonnaise!"

"Did you tell them not to put mayonnaise on it?"

"No."

"Well, there you go."

"It's on my meal card. 'Dr. Geoffrey Jabilo M'Benga. Lacto-ovo-vegetarian. No mayonnaise.' What if I was allergic?"

"But you're not."

"But what if I was? They would have killed me seven times over by now." M'Benga pushed his plate away. "I'm not eating this."

"You could just scrape the mayonnaise off."

"It's the principle of the thing, Christine. If I start eating sandwiches with mayonnaise, what next?"

"Mustard?"

"You think I'm being ridiculous."

"I know you're being ridiculous. Why don't you just take the sandwich back and order another one?"

"Because then I would have to talk to them."

"Oh, no, not conversation."

"I'm not a talker."

"You coulda fooled me."

"I don't do small talk. The people working in the galley thrive on it, apparently. It's always, 'Hi. How you doing? How's the weather?' We are in space! There is no reason to inquire about the weather. There is none."

"They're probably just trying to be friendly."

"I don't want friendliness. I want a sandwich with no mayonnaise."

"And I want a Vulcan pool boy who caters to my every whim. We can't always get what we want."

"Do you know Sybok cooks for McCoy? He even makes him little sack lunches."

"That is sickening... Where is McCoy?"

"In a conference with the captain and the other senior officers."

"Still? Figuring out why some would shower with their clothes on shouldn't take this long. I swear, if I was CMO—" Plates crashed to the floor on the other side of the room. Christine turned and hollered, "This is the mess hall, not your—" The blood seemed to drain from her face. "Oh my god." She pulled a phaser from her ankle holster and fired.

"Jesus Christ, Christine! You can't just shoot people for making noise."

Chapel ignored M'Benga's admonishments, getting up from her table and making her way to the now unconscious Lt. Tormolen, who was fortunately caught by Riley and Sulu. She bent over, and picked up Tormolen's dropped knife, turning it over in her hands. "What started all this?"

"Nothing," Sulu answered. "He started talking about dead bodies and he lost it."

"He looked like he was gonna stab one of us, but then..." Riley trailed off. "It doesn't make any sense. I know Joe. He's not—he's never acted like he was, y'know, wanting to kill himself."

"I'll get to the bottom of this, rest assured," Chapel said, touching Kevin's hand lightly with her own. "Geoff," she called back to her table. "Help me get him on a stretcher. We've got a 5150 on our hands."

–

"Hey," Sybok said, rounding the corner into M'Benga's office. "You called for a psych consult?"

" _Sí._ "

"What happened?"

" _Riley y Sulu comían en la cafetería cuando Tormolen comenzó a hablar sobre los muertos en Psi dos mil. Asió un cuchillo y—_ "

"Sorry. I don't speak Spanish."

"What? I wasn't..."

"You kinda were."

"Oh. That's weird. I don't know why I did that. I only speak Spanish at home."

"Is that your first language?"

"Yeah. I grew up in Equatorial Guinea."

"Does everybody speak that fast there?"

"No. My mom's Cuban. She's from..." Geoff stared off into the distance.

"Are you feeling okay? You look a little sweaty."

Geoff felt his head for perspiration. "Huh. I feel fine." He looked around his office. "I have to change clothes. All the information you'll need is in the computer."

"I know McCoy likes to do patient briefings in person, so that's why—"

"I could give a damn about what McCoy likes to do," M'Benga grumbled, pushing past Sybok and out the door.

"Okay. That was weird... Why am I talking to myself?"

"Unknown," the computer chirped.

"That was a rhetorical question. Bring up Lt. Tormolen's psych file. Authorization whiskey november victor."

–

"Joe," Sybok said, softly. Tormolen's head remained hidden under his arms "Joe, I'm here to talk about what happened in the mess today. Would you look—"

"They're dead. They're all dead."

"Who? The scientists on Psi 2000?"

"Them. Everyone. Everywhere we go. Death. We follow death. Chase her." Tormolen cowered in the corner of his padded cell.

"What you're feeling is completely normal."

"You say that!" The lieutenant lunged at Sybok, grabbing him by the shoulders. "You always say that!"

"It's true."

"But it doesn't help! You—whose idea was it to have a Vulcan as the ship's counselor?"

Sybok backhanded Tormolen, sending him into the padded wall. "You are weak, lieutenant. Your entire species is weak. It is a wonder that you survived so long. Perhaps space travel is what will finally result in your extinction. It is obvious that it will be the death of you. I have a decision to make. When I leave the room, shall I keep the door open behind me, allowing you to escape and commit suicide?"

Tormolen salivated at the prospect, pathetic creature.

"No. I shall close it, as is regulation."

–

Kevin always wanted to be captain. He also wanted to be a DJ. He figured he'd have to give up one of those dreams for the other. But, no, here he was, playing all the latest hits for his crew.

It was easy, really. He had thought he would need at least five more years of service before getting his own commission. Five long years of following orders and never getting laid. No. All it took was a phaser. Go down, take engineering, lock everyone out. Instant captainhood. Captaindom. Captaintanticy.

True, that Vulcan broad put up a good fight. Tooth and nail she fought to keep him away from her terminal. Literally, tooth and nail. Kevin only got her out of there by biting her at her fingers. She yowled like a cat.

Oh, shit. Dead air. "Sorry about that folks. I'm Captain Kevin Riley, laying down the hottest hits in the delta quadrant."

–

Christine rubbed the surface of McCoy's desk. It had never looked so shiny before, but now that it was hers—because everything in this sick bay was hers now—it seemed to glow.

"Goddamn it, Christine! Open the door!"

Or he'll huff and he'll puff and he'll blow her sickbay down.

"Nurse Chapel," Chekov called weakly from his med bed. "Vhat is going on?"

"Nothing, Pavel," she said, walking over to him. "Everything's exactly the way it should be."

"But Dr. McCoy—"

"Hush. Talking this soon after the extraction can slow healing."

–

Goddamn nurses and their goddamn power trips. McCoy didn't care that Christine was only a few years short of getting her MD; she was still his nurse and she still had no right to lock him out of his own sickbay.

He didn't know what the hell was going on in this hunk of metal, but he didn't like it.

–

"No fear, fair maiden!" Mr. Sulu said, brandishing his rapier—and almost poking the eyes out of every person on the bridge. "I shall protect thee."

"Sorry," Uhura sighed. "Neither."

After Spock helpfully nerve-pinched the role-playing pilot, he asked the captain, "Shall I take Mr. Sulu to sickbay?"

"Sure. Whatever you say, Spock-o." The captain winked.

–

He looked away for one minute—one minute!—and Christine lets Spock into sickbay. He may have lost his only shot to fight for the sanity of the crew.

"Christine!"

–

"Thank you, Mr. Spock. You can put him down on med bed three."

Spock unloaded his cargo, then to turned to Chapel. "Why is Dr. McCoy shouting?"

"Oh, him? He's just angry that I was found to be a more appropriate choice for CMO."

"Starfleet has named you chief medical officer?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No, not Starfleet," Christine said, advancing toward Spock. "Listen, commander, there's something I need to speak with you about."

"Obviously," said the Vulcan, backing away away from the delusional nurse.

"I have always found Vulcan men to be devastatingly handsome, especially you." She reached out for his hands.

"Nurse Chapel, I am engaged in a monogamous relationship with Dr. M'Benga."

"I know. That's the wonderful part." She took Spock's hands in her own. "I think Geoff is just as attractive as you are. And I know both of you are bisexual. So, if there's ever a time when the both of you start to miss a woman's touch, comm me, and the three of us can work out a mutually satisfactory arrangement. Now, I'm not talking anything long term, unless you want it to be. Just a couple of friends engaging in group sex from time to time. Promise me you'll think about it?"

–

"Open the got-damn door, Chapel!"

And, surprisingly, she did. But only enough for Spock to get out.

"What the hell's going on in there? Has she lost her mind?"

"Excuse me, doctor. I have matters..."

Spock made it about six feet before he started sobbing.

"Spock? Are you _crying_?"

"I am in control of my emotions."

And there Spock went, roaming the halls weeping.

"Jesus Christ. I gotta get some help."

–

"Sybok!" McCoy said as the doors to the counselor's quarters swished open. "Something's— Good god! What happened?"

"I merely cut my hair. You do not find my current appearance aesthetically pleasing?"

"No! You look ridiculous. Worse. You look like Spock."

"Our shared DNA has resulted in some similarities in physical appearance."

"You know what I mean! What happened to your clothes?"

"I put them in the recycler. It was illogical for me to keep so many outfits when I need only wear my uniform."

"You never wear your uniform. I didn't even know you owned one." McCoy rubbed his forehead. "Jesus. It's gotten you, too. Whatever made the scientists on Psi 2000 act crazy and freeze to death is attacking the crew. It's making people act like they're drunk or on something."

"Technically, we are all on something. The Enterprise."

"Maybe it's a stimulant or a hallucinogen giving people delusions of grandeur. Sulu thinks he's D'Artagnan. Riley's declared himself captain. And Chapel's taken over my sickbay."

"Is my presence necessary, or are you just 'thinking aloud?' I have to go kill Mr. Scott."

"What?"

"I must find Mr. Scott and kill him."

"Why?"

"As a Human telepath, he is a threat to me. He might try to bond with you before I can."

"So, you're going to kill him?"

"Yes. I have considered it before, but have never done it due to emotional reasons. Now that I view things solely through the eyes of logic, there is nothing inhibiting me from killing Mr. Scott."

"Are you out of your Vulc—That's it! Nothing inhibiting... That's why Spock's—"

Riley's music was cut off as the ship's PA system came to life. "This is acting captain Uhura requesting all uninfected personnel to report using comm channel five."

"McCoy to bridge," the doctor spoke into his communicator. "McCoy to bridge."

"Uhura here."

"I've figured out what's causing this. A contaminant from Psi 2000, apparently spread through physical contact, is making the crew lose their inhibitions."

"Can you cure it?"

"If I can get into sickbay."

"Well, get into sickbay. I've Scotty phasering into engineering. I'll send him your way when he's regained control of the ship. Uhura out."

"C'mon," McCoy grumbled, gesturing at Sybok. "I'm not leaving you alone in here."

–

On their relatively short trip from Sybok's cabin to sickbay, they saw (in order of appearance): Keenser and Gaila engaging in heavy petting, Sanchez spray-painting his initials on a bulkhead, and M'Benga, in full mime regalia, doing an artistic interpretation of the life cycle of a termite.

–

"Uhura to McCoy."

"McCoy here."

"Are you in sickbay yet?"

"No. The locks on these doors are different from the ones in Sybok's. It's taking him a while to figure out how to unlock them telekinetically."

"Keep trying. We're on a collision course with Psi 2000. Impact in twenty minutes. I need you to find a cure yesterday."

–

Geoff was about half way through the larval stage of the fire ant life cycle when he heard a choked sob around the corner. Never one to turn away an audience, he followed the noise. There was Spock, sitting on the deck, holding his knees to his chest and crying. Geoff sat beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

"My mother," Spock said, looking up at Geoff. "I am so ashamed to show emotion that I never once told her I loved her. She died, never..." Spock dissolved into tears.

Geoff lifted the Vulcan's chin, then pointed to him. He cradled a pantomime child in his arm, gestured to his head, then back at Spock, and pointed at Spock's heart.

Spock rested his head on Geoff's shoulder. "I hope she knew."

–

"Uhura, out of the chair," Kirk commanded, swaggering onto the bridge.

"Captain, you've been declared unfit for duty."

"Out of the chair, Nyota," Cupcake chuckled, following close behind his boyfriend.

She moved back to her station. Kirk and Cupcake settled into the captain's chair, and started to do something very unsettling in it.

–

"Uhura to McCoy."

"McCoy he—"

"Please tell me you're in sickbay."

"No. But Sybok says he's close."

"Hurry, for the love of all that is good in the universe, hurry."

–

"Eureka," Sybok pronounced, "I believe is the right expression. Judging by the unique two sliding door structure and the security mechanisms, the door must have a triple hinged lock, like those found on shuttle crafts, especially ones built in the last—"

"Spare me the oral report. Can you open it?"

Sybok quirked an eyebrow at the door, and it swished open.

"C'mon," McCoy said, pulling Sybok into sickbay by his sleeve. "You're gonna be my guinea pig."

"Dr. M'Benga is better suited for the position."

"Because he's Human?"

"No, because he is from Equatorial Guinea."

"Did you just make a pun?"

"Yes. Vulcan believe puns to be the pinnacle of wit. That and pretending to not understand colloquialisms. Quite amusing."

"I knew it!"

"What did you know?" Chapel asked, stepping out of McCoy's office.

"Christine," McCoy growled.

She put her hands in the air in mock surrender. "I'm clean. Here," she tossed McCoy a hypospray from her pocket. "The antidote."

McCoy inspected in skeptically. "This work?"

"Well, I'm no longer queen of sickbay and Sulu's stopped running around with that ridiculous phallic symbol, so I'd say it works. You didn't think I spent the last two hours drinking your whiskey, did you?"

"Good work, Christine," he said gruffly. He flipped open his comm. "McCoy to Uhura."

"Uhura here."

"Chapel's got a cure."

"Thank god. Scotty was able to get into engineering, but the engine's cold. He says it will take a half hour at least to get it running."

"We don't have a half an hour!"

"You don't have to tell me that. There might be a way we can work around that. According to Scotty, Spock can program a cold restart from the bridge. Something about a controlled matter-anti-matter implosion in the engines. I've been trying to reach Spock, but he's not answering his comm and the ship's locater system is offline."

Sybok grabbed the comm from McCoy's hands. "Sybok here. I can track Mr. Spock. By my current reading of the psionic field, Spock is on deck seventeen."

"Good. Get Spock to the bridge pronto. Uhura out."

–

This was it. His defining moment.

Geoff looked up at him, a quizzical expression on his face.

"Yes, I am certain."

Geoff returned to his ministrations, daring to unzip Spock's fly with his teeth. The Vulcan writhed beneath him, his eyes fluttering shut.

There it was. The moment of truth.

But, no, instead of removing his pants, Geoff was thrown across the hall. Spock looked up at his would-be mate's attacker. Sybok, of course. Once again, taking everything from him.

"That is conduct unbecoming of a Starfleet officer, not to a mention a Vulcan." Sybok stuck his brother with a hypo, then lifted him off the floor and into a fireman's carry, taking off in a sprint toward the bridge.

–

Uhura turned in her chair as she heard the bridge doors open. "Spock, thank—Oh. T'Pring."

"You are disappointed to see me?"

"No. Of course, not. Spock's supposed to be on his way up here to restart the engines."

"Your repeated utterance of his name disturbs me greatly. It makes my brain turn green."

Uhura closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Do we have to do this now?"

T'Pring stared at the captain's chair, where Kirk and Cupcake had finally fallen into post-coital slumber. "We should be as them." She kneeled at Uhura's feet. "I cherish thee. Thou art mine happiness, mine joy, mine sanctuary. Thou hast taught me legions. There is no greater contentment in the universe than for us to be parted and never parted—never and always touching and touched. Be mine wife."

"T'Pring... baby... I can't. You're not yourself. You don't know what you're—"

The turbolift doors opened. "I have retrieved Mr. Spock," Sybok said, depositing his brother at his terminal.

Uhura cleared her throat. "Mr... Commander, Mr. Scott has requested a cold restart of the engines."

"Yes, captain." Spock nodded and focused on his tack. "Cold restart in one minute."

"Impact in three."

The bridge doors swung open with Sulu, Chekov, and McCoy stepping out. The pilot and the navigator maneuvered around Kirk and Cupcake's sleeping forms, and sat at their stations.

"I got enough antidote to go around. Don't everybody line up at once," the doctor said.

"Later," ordered Uhura. "Mr. Chekov, plot a course out of orbit. Mr. Sulu, I want warp seven on stand-by."

"Matter-anti-matter implosion in five, four," Spock counted down, "three, two, one."

What happened next could best be described as a spring backward with a slight lurch forward.

"Guys," Sulu said, voice up an octave or two. "What was that?"

"According to my chronometer," answered Spock, "the Enterprise has been sent three days into the past."

"Oh. That's kinda awesome."

–

"This is worse than having to remake all of my clothes." Sybok straightened his bangs for what seemed to be the millionth time.

"It's not that bad," McCoy said, leaning on the bathroom door frame.

"I look like an idiot."

"No. You look..." He searched for a word. "...Vulcan."

"Don't."

"What?"

"Don't mention the V-word. You'll make me start thinking."

"Why start now?" the doctor quipped, earning him a hairbrush thrown at his face. "Ow!"

"I didn't even hit you."

"Barely. I saw my life pass before my eyes, and, believe me, it wasn't that great the first time around."

"God." He threw down a can of mousse. "I can't do this."

"Your hair will grow back."

"No. Not the hair. I... Fuck." He put the lid down on the toilet and sat.

"This is really eatin' you up inside."

"Yeah. I used to—I could feel it. The connection between all Vulcans. But when I left... I wish I could go back, beg them to take me back. I'm too proud, I suppose."

McCoy crossed over to the toilet, and knelt beside it, taking Sybok's face in his hands. "What I can do to make this better?"

"I don't know."

–

"Geoffrey... I..." Spock took a breathe. "...love you. I love you?" He raised his left eyebrow. "Te amo. _I_ love you... I love _you_. I _love_ you. _Iiiiii_ love _yooooou_. To you—"

"Spock!" Kirk called from behind his door to their shared bathroom. "Stop dicking around in there. I have to pee."

Spock straightened his tunic, and walked back into his quarters. "Geoffrey."

"Yeah," Geoff said, turning away from the vidscreen. "What's up?"

"I..."

"Are you okay? You're looking kinda red."

"...think I may vomit."

"Go sit by the toilet. I'll bring you—"

"I cannot. The captain is urinating."

"Do you want to go to sick bay?"

"No. It will pass. I seem to have a case of what my mother would call nerves."

"Oh. I didn't—When I suggested that we watch a movie, I meant just that. Unless you want—I don't want to pressure you into anything. Just because we almost doesn't mean we have to. You know I'm fine with waiting."

"The source of my anxiety is not sexual in nature. I took your invitation at face value. It appears that it would be of mutual benefit for me to disclose the feelings I experience in your presence. Geoffrey, I," he swallowed, "love you."

"I know," Geoff said, getting off the bed and walking over to Spock. "I love you, too."

Spock extended his index and middle fingers. Geoff met them with his own, forming an ozh'esta.

–

"Pass the bleach, would ya?"

"Here."

"I don't think this stain is ever going to come out. No pun intended."

"You're wearing a hole in the upholstery."

"Shit. I'm gonna hafta order a new one. I don't know how I'm gonna explain this to the quartermaster."

"What do you think she'd do with the old one?"

"I dunno. Trash it. It's probably considered hazardous waste, or something."

"You think she'd let you keep it?"

"I guess. Technically, it is my chair. Why?"

–

"Christine! Get in here! What is this?"

"A PADD."

"No. What did you just send me?"

"My letter of resignation."

"I know that! Why?"

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Of course."

"I'm tired of making your fucking coffee. I didn't spend ten years in school, so I could be your yeoman. I am a capable medical professional, and every minute that I'm not a doctor is a minute wasted."

"Jesus. I didn't meant to—"

"I know you didn't."

"Could you at least stay until the end of the mission? It's only a few months. No more coffee, I promise."

"No. The VSA will only hold my spot until March."

"VSA? You oughta love that."

"Warm weather, matriarchal culture, pretty boys. What's not to like?"

–

"T'Pring... what is all this?"

"Ambience."

"I think your ambience might burn the ship down."

"Hardly. The Enterprise is made of fire retardant metal."

"Are these ferns?"

"Yes. Plants create ambience."

"Usually people use flowers. Roses, orchids..."

"Here. Accept my gift of jewelry."

"Thank you. It's... nice."

"You do not find it pleasing."

"No. It's beautiful. I love it."

"Yet you are disappointed."

"No. I was just hoping for a ring."

"Why?"

"Well, a ring can signify intent to marry."

"Specifically, a ring? I thought any piece of jewelry could serve that purpose. Why else would women experience such jubilation over a largely thoughtless gift?"

"Traditionally, it's just rings... but that doesn't mean this can't be like an engagement necklace. I mean, how do traditions get started anyway?"

"So, you accept my proposal?"

"Yes."

"Good. We should engage in coitus now."


	5. Chapter 4: Not All Actors are Genocidal Dictators, but All Genocidal Dictators are Actors

"In light of recent events, and in honor of the engagement of Lts. T'Pring and Uhura, and the impending departure of Nurse Chapel, I have arranged for a bit of entertainment. The Karidian Company of Players, sponsored by our friends at the Galactic Cultural Exchange Project, have kindly agreed to come aboard and perform for us. They will be with us for five days, so be on your best behavior—there are children in the company. Tomorrow, during beta shift, they will be performing The Taming of the Shrew for alpha shift workers. Wednesday, during gamma shift, The Tempest for beta shift workers. Friday, during alpha shift, Two Gentlemen of Verona for gamma shift workers. All performances will take place in cargo bay D and will be interpreted in Standard Sign Language. For the safety of both the actors and audience, late seating will not be permitted. If you do not arrive on time, feel free to watch the performance in cargo bay C on closed circuit vidscreen. If you have any questions, feel free to comm me or show up at my office during open hours. Sybok out."

–

"So," Sybok said, pouring a cup of tea for Lt. Riley. "What's up?"

"I think I might be going crazy."

"You came to the right place then." He set down the kettle. "What's making you think you're going insane?"

"I've been seeing things."

"What sort of things?"

"Faces. Like, the faces of people I knew on—You know how in holovids someone will be looking for someone in a crowd, and it looks like they found them, but when the person turns around, it's just someone who looks like who they were looking for? It's like that."

"When did this start?"

"Last night."

"I wouldn't worry about it. It could have been fatigue. If it continues—"

"It was Kodos," Riley whispered.

Sybok covered his mouth, muffling an "oh." He coughed. "Who looked like Kodos?"

"One of the Karidian players. The guy who played the father of the two girls."

"Baptista?"

"Yeah. That was his name."

"Has it happened with anyone else? Any of the other actors?"

"No. Just him."

"The good news is you're not going crazy. The bad news is I need you to come in once a week to work though some of your residual issues involving Tarsus IV."

Riley let out a frustrated sigh. "I thought I was done with that."

"Honestly, I don't think you can ever be done with that. Kodos murdered your parents right in front of you. That's not something a person can get over. T'Pring will never be able to forgive the man who killed her family, and neither will Spock or the captain."

"Or Batman."

"Or Batman. And he's a superhero. Not that Batman's someone you should aspire to be. Maybe Golden Age Batman. But definitely not angry, end of the Cold War Batman. He was just sad."

–

"You know," Sybok said, stepping into the turbolift with the captain. "I did some acting back on Betazed."

"Deck four. Really?"

"Yeah. Just some children's theatre. We'd travel to local schools. Nothing big. I got some grant money out of it."

"Y'know, Cupcake was a musical theatre minor."

"Really? I never pegged him for the Gilbert and Sullivan type."

"Apparently, he and Uhura were the best dancers at U of Ghana."

"I didn't know they went to school together."

"Yeah, they go way back." The turbolift doors chimed and swished open. The two men stepped into the corridor, whose very walls seems to be pulsating to the beat of some vaguely Bollywood style song. "I guess we just follow the music."

Sybok stopped at door. "Do you think they'll like the muffins?" He pressed the door's chime.

"Yeah. They're actors. And you know actors, bunch of freeloading transients who—" The door opened. "Hello, Mr. Karidian. It's great to see you."

"This is quite a surprise," Anton said. "Come in, come in."

Sybok and Kirk stepped inside the spacious guest quarters that now looked to be inhabited by a family of Romany fortune tellers from a 1940's horror film. "I like what you've done with the place. It's..." Kirk let it linger.

"It really is," Sybok added, nodding his head furiously.

"I hope you don't mind the music. We were celebrating another wonderful performance. Your crew quite likes their Shakespeare."

"We're a regular bunch of theatre connoisseurs." Kirk shifted from one foot to another.

"Speaking of connoisseurs," Sybok said, "I baked you some muffins."

"Lovely." Karidian took the tray of muffins from the counselor's hands. "Lenore!" he called.

"Yes, father," a blonde girl of no more than sixteen responded, poking her head out of the kitchen.

"Come take these into the kitchen." Lenore shuffled over, never once making eye contact with Kirk or Sybok. "This is my daughter Lenore. Lenore, this is Captain Kirk and Counselor Sybok. Say hello."

"Hi," she squeaked.

Sybok waved.

"Hi," Kirk said, flashing her one of his megawatt smiles. "You were great as Bianca last night."

"Thank you." She quickly snatched the tray from her father and rushed back into the kitchen, trying to beat the onset of a furious blush.

"Thank you for the muffins. The smell lovely. I certainly hope there is enough for everyone."

"There should be enough for sec—ugh." Sybok doubled over, his vision overcome by flashing red lights.

"Is he all right?" Karidian asked, placing a hand on Sybok's back.

The counselor recoiled from the contact, pressing himself against the doorframe. "I'm fine. I just... I have a migraine." He back into the door, which opened behind him. "I need to lie down."

–

"I've made a huge mistake."

T'Pring and Spock stared up at him from the couch with raised eyebrows.

"I might have inadvertently invited aboard a former genocidal dictator who murdered family members of two of our crew. By accident. Completely unintentional."

"How do you do that accidentally?" T'Pring asked in her best you're-a-sad-stupid-little-man-and-I-pity-you voice.

"Did you intend to send the invitation to someone else, and then confused their names?" asked Spock.

"No. I didn't know he was Kodos."

"The Executioner?" Spock and T'Pring said in unison.

"Yes. That Kodos."

"It has always been my understanding that Kodos died before the Terran relief vessels reached Tarsus IV," stated Spock.

"I know, that's what I thought, too. But there he is on deck four, eating muffins with the Captain. ...Oh god. I left him with the captain. Stupid Vulcan! Stupid, stupid Vulcan!"

"Do you think he will try to harm the captain?" Spock asked, going into his default fuck-pacifism-captain-in-danger pose.

"No. Karidian has worked too long to craft his image. He won't risk it."

Spock and T'Pring shared a look. "There is something you are not telling us," T'Pring accused.

"Yeah. But only because I can't, okay? If I could, I would. But I can't."

"How do you know that Karidian is Kodos?"

"I got a feeling."

"A feeling? That should hold up wonderfully in a court of law."

"It's not—We were talking about the muffins I baked him."

"You baked Kodos the Executioner muffins?" Spock asked incredulously.

"I didn't know he was Kodos at the time! I wouldn't have spent two hours preparing baked goods, if I knew the recipient was a genocidal maniac. And, technically, not all of the muffins were for Kodos."

"You were conversing about muffins," T'Pring said, trying to get them back on track, "and you got a feeling."

"Not so much a feeling. More of a vision... of the my-worst-memory-let-me-show-you-it variety. He was standing in this makeshift crematorium—thousands of bodies—and he gets a communique saying aid ships were a few hours away. He grabs one of the bodies," Sybok closed his eyes. "His brother's body, and he drags it into his office. That's it."

"Even if telepathic readings were legally admissible in the Federation War Crimes Tribunal, your vision is hardly damning evidence."

"I know. That's why I need your help."

–

"How's it going?" Sybok asked T'Pring, placing a steaming cup of tea next to her terminal.

"The vocal analysis is inconclusive," she said, cupping her tea, "but that might be resulting from the Klingon accent he affected while playing Baptista."

"He might have used his own accent for Prospero. In most productions I've seen, only the natives and the servants have put upon accents."

"If not, I will be forced to use security recordings, which are incredibly distorted by the acoustics of the ship. I do not think they would hold up in court."

"What about facial comparison?"

"There is strong precedent against its use in the Tribunal. Within the past twenty years, three defendants have argued that anything less than a one hundred percent match was useless at best, and racist at worst. They are all living as free beings."

"Damn it."

"I will continue to run scans. If anything, my results can be used as supplemental evidence."

"Thanks." He walked across the lab to Spock's station. "Hey. Tea?"

Spock shook his head. "My findings are troublesome, yet promising. The body believed to be Kodos was so badly burned that only mitochondrial DNA was present in sufficient quantities for analysis. It matched that of Kodos mother, Aneesa Kodos , meaning that it could have belonged to anyone in her matrilineal line."

"Like Kodos' brother."

"Precisely. Aneesa Kodos was an only child, as was her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. Her great-great-grandmother was the only member of her family to survive Auschwitz. Aneesa gave birth to two sons, Aristide the elder and Lysias the younger. At age ten, Aristide experienced an illness that atrophied much of his brain. His quality of life diminished minutely, but he required near constant supervision. After Aneesa died, Aristide was placed in an institution by Lysias, who had power of attorney, yet never made occasion to visit. Aristide escaped the hospital several times, always to the house of his brother, who promptly return him to the institution. In the Terran year 2240, Aristide escaped for the final time. His whereabouts remain unknown.

"Two weeks after Aristide's disappearance, Lysias Kodos embarked for what would become Tarsus IV on a small shuttle. As a private shuttle, very few records remain. However, the control tower recorded a conversation between the pilot and navigator, who had accidentally left their communication channel open. They discuss the discrepancies between the flight manifest and the ship's bio-readings. The manifest stated that there were seven Humans on board. The ship said there were eight. They referred to this eighth passenger as their 'ghost,' stating that this was his second week of haunting them. The navigator suggested having a flight attendant search the vessel for the ghost once again. The pilot said that she would not find anything and that it was just a quirk of the computer. He justified this by saying not even a ghost could survive hidden on the ship without food or water. When the shuttle was decommissioned two years later, a store of candy wrappers and water bottles was found in a ventilation duct."

"So," Sybok swallowed, "you're implying that Kodos' brother stowed away on a shuttle for two weeks to follow him to Tarsus IV. How did even know his brother was leaving, let alone what shuttle he would be on?"

"Have you read Jarot's paper on brain damage and precognition?"

"Read it? I wrote it."

Spock arched an eyebrow.

"What? He paid me a lot of money. I needed a new stove."

"You are familiar with the notion that, like people who have lost their vision and gained more sensitive hearing, certain persons with brain damage may have developed precognitive abilities."

"Yes. But he's a completely untestable hypothesis. Proving precognition is damn near impossible under normal circumstances, but in cases like these... The people with a large enough cognitive deficit to warrant the growth of future sight have trouble describing physical events. Even if they could see the future, they would have little ability to describe it to researchers. I'm not saying it's impossible, but the Tribunal is unlikely to put much stock in it."

"I agree. The evidence is largely circumstantial. However, if we can obtain a sample of Karidian's DNA, we can match it with the mitochondrial DNA of the corpse and Aneesa Kodos. A subsequent brain scan could be compared with the last performed on Aristide, eliminating the possibility that Karidian was Aristide."

"And if you eliminate the impossible..."

"Whatever remains—however improbable—must be the truth."

"How will we obtain the DNA?"

–

"So, the Tellarite ambassador says, 'That's no Klingon. That's my wife!'" Kirk finished, slapping his knee.

"You have quite the sense of humor, captain," Karidian said, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Please, call me Jim."

"Excuse me, captain," T'Pring said, sidling up beside Karidian. "There is something of great importance that I must request of Mr. Karidian."

"Don't mind me," responded Kirk, taking a gulp of his beer.

"Thank you. Mr. Karidian, are you familiar with the culture of the Vulcan tropics?"

"No. I cannot say I am."

"It is a custom amongst my people to offer travelers a drink from the family cup." T'Pring brandished an earthen mug, holding it in front of her ample cleavage. "Would you like to drink from my cup?"

"I would be honored."

–

"I have obtained the sample," T'Pring said, pulling up her top.

Spock took the mug, and wiped its rim with a q-tip. "The test should be complete within twenty minutes."

–

"What's the verdict?"

"Guilty. Incredibly guilty."

"Let's go get the bad guy."

–

The party was still hopping by the time the three Vulcans and a heavy security detail arrived. Sybok opted to go in first, and get Lenore out of the line of fire to ensure she didn't do something drastic. Teenagers were unpredictable even when their parents weren't being taken away on charges of genocide.

Sybok entered, with Cupcake ghosting behind him. He found Lenore easily, she was hiding in a corner watching Kirk.

"Hi, Lenore."

"Hello, counselor," she answered shyly.

"One of the storage pods holding your costumes got knocked over during transit. Nothing was damaged, but we need some help getting everything put back in order. Could you give us a hand?"

"Sure."

They were almost out the door, when Karidian noticed and called, "Lenore, where are you going?"

"Counselor Sybok needs help with the costumes. The racks got knocked over."

"It's too late. You can do tomorrow."

Sybok placed a hand on Lenore's shoulder. "It won't take more than ten minutes."

"It's Lenore's bed time."

"Dad!" Lenore whined, looking at Kirk. "I'm sixteen!"

"All the more reason for you to go to bed."

"I hardly see how Lenore can go to bed with the party going on out here," said Sybok.

"Are you questioning my parenting?"

"No, but it's hardly appropriate for you lot to be carrying on this late when there are children—"

"What we do with our children is our business."

Kirk stepped in front of Karidian. "Fellas, fellas. Let's be reasonable. I'm certain Sybok didn't mean—"

"Go into the corridor," Sybok whispered into Lenore's ear.

"What are you saying to my daughter?" At the commotion, several security officers filtered into the room. "What's going on?"

"Mr. Karidian," Cupcake warned, "it would be in your best interest to come with us."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on."

"Fine. Anton Karidian, you are under arrest for murder."

"This is absurd."

"Put your hands in the air." He drew his phaser.

Karidian slowly raised his arms, then lunged forward, getting Captain Kirk in a chokehold. A small switchblade dropped out of his left sleeve, and into his hand, where it was quickly opened and held against Kirk's neck. "If anyone moves a muscles, your captain dies."

"Back away from the captain, Kodos!"

"Kodos?" Kirk said, his Adam's apple bobbing dangerously close to the blade.

"Dad, what are they talking about?" cried Lenore. "Who's Kodos?"

"Someone I used to be."

"I'll take that as a confession," Kirk said. "Shoot him."

"I'll slit his throat before it even hits me."

"Do it!"

"I can't. It might hit you."

"Satisfy my demands, and he will be released. I want—"

"You have the shot!"

"—a shuttlecraft with enough supplies—"

"I can't get you out of this."

"—for Lenore and myself, a loaded—"

"He'll kill me no matter what we do. One life means nothing to him."

"—phaser rifle—"

"The switchblade's too close."

"Goddamnit, Daniel! Take the fucking shot!"

And with no visible phaser fire, Karidian was gone.

"Dad!" Lenore ran to the empty space that formerly held her father

Riley stepped out of the kitchen, his phaser outstretched in shaky hands.

"Why?" Lenore cried, looking up at him.

–

"I killed that girl's father right in front her," Riley said quietly, "I guess I'm no better than he is."

"Kevin, you acted to save the life of your captain and who knows how many other people."

"Isn't that what he did? Killed people to save the lives of others?"

"No. Kodos killed those people because he thought they were inferior and had no right to be alive. Now, he could justify it with the food shortage, but, at the end of the day, he bought into that idea. He believed in it so much he killed his own brother. A person who makes that kind of decision and follows it to that extent was going to enact genocide regardless of the situation."

"He killed Kirk's brother, you know?"

"Yeah. I knew."

"Kirk was standing next to me on the balcony of our school when... We weren't supposed to be out there. Kirk was sneaking a cigarette, and I was trying to get out of nap time. I could see my parents across the city center. And Kirk, his brother was standing under the balcony with the rest of the schoolchildren. Then they weren't."

The timer on Sybok's coffee table buzzed. "I'm sorry," he said, reaching to turn it off. "That's all our time. I'll see you next week."


	6. Chapter 5: Interdimensional Travel for Beginners

"God," Kirk groaned. "Don't you just love beaming down to completely empty planets for no discernible reason?"

"Anything that lets me stretch my legs," Uhura said.

"Aye," Scotty agreed. "This is the first landin' party I've been party to in near a month. Makes a lad think maybe the boss has somethin' against him."

"Hey, I'm not the one who passed that stupid Learning on the Job initiative. You think I like sending a bunch of green as grass ensigns planetside?"

"I got no complaints," said McCoy, fiddling with his tricorder. "The less I have to use that damn transporter the better."

"Any word from Kyle?" Kirk asked Uhura.

"No. The ion storm is still jamming our signal."

"Stupid ions. I never liked those things."

Uhura stood on her tip toes, raising her comm high in the air. "Wait. I think—"

"Kyle here," said the communicator.

"Uhura here. Four to beam up."

After being put through the matter-energy food processor and reconstituted into human form—as McCoy so lovingly described the transporter process—the first thing Kirk noticed was that Spock had grown a beard within the two hours the landing party spent making sure there was absolutely nothing of value on Terin II. The second thing Kirk noticed was that he had a collar on his neck. And not the usual fun-time-with-Cupcake-and-a-safeword collar.

T'Pring, who was standing behind the transporter console, pressed the comm panel and spoke, "The landing party has retrieved your tribble." Apparently a code name of some sort, because none of them had a tribble on hand.

"T'Pring," Uhura started, "what's—"

"It is nothing that should concern you," T'Pring answered, stepping out from behind the console and toward the transporter pad. "The ion storm caused momentary interference in the transporter process."

"Something that could have easily been prevented," Spock said sharply, staring back at the console.

Kirk got up on his tippy-toes to see what Spock was glaring at. A body. It was a body. There was what looked like a dead body on the floor behind the transporter console. A dead fucking body. Just laying there.

"The continued use of _hayal_ crew for vital tasks has proved to be a great threat to this ship," Spock whispered to T'Pring.

"Quiet," she hissed. "He is almost at the door."

Sybok, now with a shaved head and a ridiculous soul patch, entered the transporter room. T'Pring and Spock gave him a kind of Nazi salute, which he reciprocated in kind. He looked over at the pad. "I'm glad to see you're back. Did the tribble give you any trouble?"

With everyone else too shocked to answer, Kirk responded, "No. No tribble at all."

Sybok let out a hollow chuckle, then walked over to Kirk. "He thinks he's people." He scratched the captain under the chin, like he was a dog. "Good boy." His face turned to a grimace, and wrenched Kirk's head forward by his hair. "Don't you ever run away, again. I will always find you, Kirk. No matter where you go, I will find you." He threw Kirk to the floor, and brushed his hands off. "Dr. McCoy, I'd like a full work up done on our frisky little captain. Make sure he didn't pick anything up planetside. Take special care to inspect all of his organs by hand. All of them."

"The hell I will!" Bones shouted

"Excuse me?"

Kirk stared up at McCoy from the floor, pleading with his eyes, _Play along, Bones. Buy us time._

McCoy put on a scowl, stepping off the pad and next to Sybok. "I'm a doctor, not a veterinarian. You think I don't have better things to do than examine Kirk?"

"Fine. Spock, let Dr. M'Benga know I have a present for him. You can watch, of course."

Spock grabbed Kirk by his collar and dragged him out of the room. He couldn't see much being manhandled down the corridor, but from what he saw, the crew looked happy. Really, really happy. Like, scary clown happy. And, when they got to sickbay, even M'Benga, who always seemed to alternate between smug good humor and sullen agitation, was mirthful. But that could have just been from seeing his present.

As soon as the doors closed, the smile was wiped off the doctor's face. "What the fuck does he want me to do with that?"

"The standard procedure."

"How long do we have?"

"Approximately an hour."

"Good. That leaves five minutes for him and fifty-five for us." M'Benga slashed Spock's tunic open with a scalpel, revealing—oh my fuck—a corset. "And, you know, I like to have dessert first."

Kirk waited until they were sufficiently occupied before army crawling into a Jefferies tube.

–

Thin, but calloused fingers glided through Uhura's hair, as she leaned her back on the side of the command chair. "Ashayam, you seem unhappy. I can feel it in your scalp."

"I'm fine. I'm just tired."

"My poor Human. Chasing the tribble must be exhausting for you. He is such a nuisance. I would rid the ship of him entirely if he were not such a valuable asset to our publicity division. Once we find a suitable replacement, he will be sold at auction. As a blue eyed Terran, he should fetch a handsome sum. Then we can go on vacation."

–

"Why so glum, chum?" Sybok asked, taking a seat on Scotty's desk. "You've been looking a little put out since you beamed aboard."

"'S nothin'," Scotty answered. "There's a good bit of damage to our lady from the ion storm."

"And you think if you had been on board, you could have prevented it?" Sybok sighed. "I know you don't like chasing after the tribble, but I need someone who can track him. So that leaves you, T'Pring, and Spock. T'Pring is far too valuable to risk being compromised, and I trust Spock about as far as I can throw him. Which is actually pretty far... Anyway, I need you to keep positive, okay? Negativity has its way of traveling from person to person."

–

"Pst. Bones."

"Jim? What in the blue blazes are you doing in there?"

Kirk dropped down from the air duct and into McCoy's quarters. "I had to get out of sickbay before Spock starting singing 'Sweet Transvestite'."

"Something's up with the crew."

"I know. It's like they've all been Stepfordized or something."

"You don't think Harvey Mudd had anything to do with this."

"No, no. It's bigger than him. It's as if we're—"

"In a parallel universe?" said Uhura, causing the boys to jump.

"Jesus Christ, woman!" McCoy grabbed his heart. "Give a fella a little warning."

"Sorry." McCoy's cabin door closed behind her. "I thought Scotty would have been here by now to tell I was coming."

"I'm here now!" Scotty called from air duct, which he deftly climbed down from a moment later. "I woulda been here earlier, but Sybok decided I was in need of some motivational speakin'."

"I don't know who that was, but it sure as hell wasn't Sybok," McCoy declared.

"Technically," started Uhura, "that was Sybok, but not our Sybok. Going off of what T'Pring told me, the transporter error placed us in a parallel universe where the Terran Empire is competing with the Klingons to acquire the most colonies."

"What about the Romulans? What's their role in this world?" inquired the captain.

"None. Romulus was destroyed after the Narada Incident. You supervised the strike yourself."

"If I'm some big planet smasher, why am I the one wearing the collar?"

"From what I gather, your reign ended a few months after M'Benga, Sybok, and T'Pring joined the crew."

"The three of them," Scotty surmised. "They got to Spock."

"In more ways than one," Kirk mumbled.

"Spock already resented Kirk for getting the Enterprise," Uhura explained

"And then the three musketeers come aboard," McCoy added.

"They prey on his insecurities, use his knowledge of the ship, and stage a coup. T'Pring gets promoted from lowly mechanic to acting captain, and Sybok gets an unlimited bounty of minds to scramble."

"What does M'Benga get out of it? I'm still CMO."

"I imagine Sybok—and he's the key to all of this—promised him a promotion, which would be achieved through your assassination."

"Why didn't he go through with it?"

"I think it's fairly obvious, doctor," Scotty said. "Ye 've got the lad head over heels for ye."

"Can we get back to our most pressing issue?" asked Kirk. "Why am I Sybok's tribble?"

"T'Pring said you were good publicity, which leads me to believe that the Enterprise is in the business of winning the hearts and minds of the natives."

"By brainwashing them," the doctor remarked flatly.

"Exactly."

"What I dinnae understand is, if we're here, where are this universe's versions of us?"

–

Sybok blinked, swishing his cabin door open. "Captain, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Kirk scuttled over to the counselor's craft nook, sitting himself at Sybok's feet. "Sorry."

Oh my god, did Kirk have some issue Sybok was supposed to remember? He could just fake it until the captain lets on what he's talking about. "I forgive you?"

"I won't run away never again."

"That's good. We should always face our problems head on."

"Where's my collar?"

"I imagine it would be the last place looked. Have you tried retracing your steps?"

"You mad?"

"No. I'm just a little confused."

"Can I have my collar?"

"I... Are you feeling all right?" Kirk rubbed his head against Sybok's leg, his arm reaching for the Vulcan's crotch. "Woah, woah," Sybok exclaimed, jumping out of his chair. "In no way is that appropriate!" Kirk stared at the ground, looking like a sad, little puppy. "Jesus." Sybok flipped open his communicator. "Sybok to Cupcake. Report to my quarters immediately. It's about the captain."

In true Cupcake fashion, he arrived an impossibly short amount of time later, completely out of breath. "What's—up?"

Kirk cowered behind Sybok. "The Captain seems to be stuck in his pupspace. I need you to safeword him out."

"Okay." Cupcake took a deep breath. "Fizzbin." No discernible change in Kirk. "Fizzbin." Nothing. "Fizzbin." Nada.

"Are you sure that's your safeword?"

"Yeah."

"I think this warrants a trip to Dr. McCoy." Kirk squealed. "Hey, hey. It's all right, boy. The vet won't hurt you."

–

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Geoff yelled, pushing McCoy out of the operating room.

"Surgery. Try it some time, you might like it."

"Were you planning on anesthetizing the patient any time soon?"

"It's just an appendectomy."

"Just? Oh for the love of... I don't even wanna know how you got your hands on that scalpel."

"It was on my desk." McCoy twirled the scalpel in his hands. "Would you let me get back to work, or are we gonna stand here all day?"

"No. You're now officially off duty."

"I think you're forgetting who's CMO around here."

"As your doctor, I'm declaring you unfit for duty. You're confined to your quarters until further notice."

McCoy growled, launching himself at M'Benga, scalpel at the ready. Geoff took a slash to the chest, before knocking McCoy out with a surgical tray to the face.

"M'Benga to... hay mucha sangre..."

–

"Len! You in?" Sybok called as he entered sickbay, leading Kirk by a makeshift leash. "This place has been a ghost town since Chapel left." He sniffed the air. "Gross." He followed the scent into the scrub room. "Who's the bleed—oh my god." It was only with his Vulcan control of his body that he stopped himself from vomiting or tripping on the pool of red blood. He hit the wall comm. "All available medical personnel report to surgery. Stat." He dropped to the floor, crawling to M'Benga bleeding form. He applied pressure to the wound, being careful not to break the doctor's ribs. "Who would..." Then Sybok noticed the scalpel a few inches from McCoy's hand.

The medical team rushed in, pushing Sybok away and taking the two doctors into surgery.

"Sybok to Spock."

"Spock here."

"You should be in sickbay. It's about Joff-ree."

–

"This attack is beyond my comprehension. Drs. M'Benga and McCoy are friends."

"I think something happened to them on that planet. Maybe a virus or something."

"I'll tell ye what happened," Scotty said, stepping into the sickbay waiting room and spitting out a sunflower seed—a habit he seemed to have picked up since being beamed aboard. "That feckin' ion storm sent me and th' rest of th' landin' party into some alternate dimension where you lot are a bunch of feckin' cowards."

"Does he seem more Scottish to you?" Sybok whispered to Spock.

"Kirk's captain. Uhura uses her talented tongue for reasons besides getting' the boss lady off. McCoy doesn't bathe in the blood of innocents. And I'm a humorous ethnic sidekick. In my dimension—in my dimension, I was feared. People respected me. I had any woman I wanted and as much shrimp as I could eat."

"You can still consume as much shrimp as you desire in this dimension," Spock stated.

"It's nae th' same. I want tae go home. Tae my women and my shrimp."

"No known method for inter-dimensional travel exists."

"Aye, under normal circumstances."

"Which this is not."

"Th' grand switcheroo created instability in both dimensions, allowin' travel between th' two via transporter, but only until th' dimensions self-correct. Accordin' tae my estimate, we've got a twenty minute window before I'm stuck in this shrimp-less dimension forever."

"If you and yours go back, will ours return?" Sybok asked.

"Aye, that's th' idea."

–

Meanwhile, back in bizarro world...

"Goin' off o' my tests, we've got twenty minutes to get to the transporter and back to Kansas."

"How're we gonna get Captain Tribble here on the transporter pad?" McCoy asked. "Sybok doesn't seem—"

"Shh. Do you hear that?" whispered Uhura. "Someone's coming."

"The three of you get back in that air duct," McCoy hissed. "I'll meet you in the transporter room."

Scotty pulled himself into the vent, followed by Kirk and Uhura, who closed the cover behind her right before the door chimed.

"Come."

Spock entered, his hands behind his back. "Dr. McCoy."

"Commander."

"Have you seen Kirk?"

"Not since we beamed up. I thought you and your private physician were supposed to be watching him. Get a little sidetracked?"

Spock did not rise to the bait. "The ship's locater system said that Kirk was in your room. Along with Lt. Uhura and Lt. Commander Scott."

"I don't see 'em."

Spock turned to leave, then stopped. "You will forget we ever had this conversation."

"Whatever you say, boss."

"I do not believe you understand," he said, advancing on the doctor. "You will forget we ever had this conversation."

"There's no need to—" McCoy glanced at Spock's outstretched right hand. "We can work—"

"No." Spock pushed McCoy against the wall, covering the Human's psi points with his finger tips. "My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts..."

While his melds with Sybok only brought forth feelings of love and occasionally an orgasm, the meld with Spock only brought McCoy pain. He wouldn't go as far as saying it was like having his brain cut open—more like having his brain get a million paper cuts in rapid succession. He guessed that was Spock rifling through his memories, 'cause when Spock stopped searching, it hurt like all get out. Slowly erasing everything that just happened. Spock never chimed. He never came in. He never asked—

And it stopped—like a knife being ripped from a wound. With no Spock holding him up, McCoy collapsed, falling into strong arms. Still too scared to open his eyes, he felt himself be carried over to the bed and cradled next to a warm body.

"Shh, shh, ashayam," Sybok whispered. "He's gone. He won't hurt you again."

"What?" McCoy opened his eyes. Spock was crumpled on the deck. "Is he dead?"

"Yes. Tal-shaya. It was more than he deserved." He rocked McCoy gently. "I would have liked to rip his spinal cord out through his throat."

"How did you know?"

"I didn't."

"Why're you here?"

"I needed you to sign this." He took out a PADD from his back pocket and handed it McCoy.

"What's this?"

"A letter of recommendation."

"'I, Leonard Horatio McCoy, MD, hereby certify Sybok of Fresno...' Fresno?"

"The housing prices are quite reasonable."

"That's because it's Fresno," McCoy mumbled. "'Sybok of Fresno as an acceptable mate for Leonard McCoys of any dimension. It is my expert opinion, as an alternate version of yourself—'" McCoy dropped the PADD. "You knew? This entire time you knew? How?"

"Is your Sybok unable to read minds?"

"No, but he chooses not to!"

"Bully for him."

"If you knew, why are you just coming to me now?"

"I had to write up the letter. I needed you to sign it before I sent you back."

"You have inter-dimensional travelers on your ship, and you use them so you can get laid?"

"Does my counterpart choose not to have sex, as well?"

McCoy glared. "That I'm not telling you."

"Fine, fine. All I require is vocal John Hancock, and you and your cohorts can be beamed back to boring-land."

"You think you know how to get us out of here?"

"I know for certain. I keep an old man locked in my closet. Once you get past the screaming and pleas for a swift death, he can be quite illuminating."

"If I sign this, you promise to send me back? You won't try to keep me as a pet or something?"

"Of course not. You're damaged goods now."

The doctor growled into the PADD, "Signed Leonard Horatio McCoy, MD."

"Good boy. Now toddle off to the transporter room."

–

The first thing Kirk noticed after being aboard the right Enterprise was how exhausted and annoyed Spock and Sybok looked. "What did we do?"

"Scotty spit sunflower seeds everywhere, Uhura made a snuff film of herself stomping on Chekov's tribble, you tried to give me a handjob, and Dr. McCoy stabbed M'Benga. What did we do?"

"Mainly," Scotty said, "you were just mean."

"You kept me on a leash, and T'Pring said she was going to sell me at auction."

"Sulu kept looking up my skirt."

"Spock forced a mind-meld on me," McCoy said in a fit of pique, "then you broke his neck."

No one said anything after that.


	7. Interlude: Nice Day for A Whale Wedding

Sybok watched McCoy much more closely after the kae'at k'lasa despite the doctor's claims that he was just fine and dandy, that it wasn't a big deal in Human culture, that it was nothing like what they did. But he still saw McCoy flinch when Spock walked into a room. The healing melds helped, as did McCoy's therapy sessions with M'Benga; however, what they really needed was a heaping helping of quality time. The down time between the end of the first five year mission and the second afforded them such an opportunity.

"Hey," Leonard said, wrapping his arms around Sybok's waist. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah."

"What are you thinking about?"

"How weird it is having a place to come back to."

McCoy kissed his temple, then disentangled himself from their embrace. "Come on. Our shuttle should be here soon."

–

"Next," Kyle shouted. T'Pring and Uhura took their place on the transporter pad. "Coordinates under Uhura?" The Vulcan nodded. "Okay, just a minute. Where to?"

"My parents' house in Nairobi."

"I hear it's lovely there whatever time of the year this is. Engage. Next."

Spock and Dr. M'Benga walked onto the transporter pad. "Under M'Benga," the doctor said.

"Alright, where's that?"

"Corisco."

"I don't know where that is, but enjoy your stay. Engage. Next. Hello, captain. Under Cupcake?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. You going back to Iowa?"

"No, Vienna."

"Enjoy the sausage. Engage. Mr. Sulu. Let me guess, Tokyo?"

"San Francisco, asshole."

"Kiss my arse. Engage. Next."

–

"So, this is Sacramento," Sybok said.

"Yep," McCoy mumbled, steering their ground car.

"And this is an automobile."

"Yep."

The Vulcan unrolled his window, and peered down at the road. "And the wheels—they just rotate like that?"

"Yep."

"Huh... The weather's nice."

"I figured you'd say that. Roll up the window; the air's on."

Sybok complied, putting his face next to air conditioning vent. "Why don't you live in Georgia?"

McCoy arched an eyebrow.

"Right. A minimum of two thousand miles between you and the ex."

"'sides, the Starfleet timeshares are nice—even if they're all the way up here. The rent's cheap and I don't have to worry about upkeep while I'm gone."

"For a Human, you don't seem to be too excited about being back on Earth."

"I figure we been to about a hundred M-class planets, what's one more?"

"You sound like a cowperson."

"A what?"

"A cowperson. You travel from planet to planet, never putting down roots. You have that fetching accent."

"A cowboy?"

"That's rather sexist."

McCoy pulled into a driveway. "Here we are."

"It's nice." Sybok got out of the car, following McCoy to the front door.

"What do you think the odds are that our stuff got here before we did?" he asked, placing his hand on the scanner panel.

"Welcome home, Leonard," the door chirped, opening.

"I'd say about sixty-four percent, with a twenty-eight percent chance they got beamed into the walls." Sybok looked around the front room. "It's nice. What's the kitchen like?"

"Not much," Leonard responding, leading Sybok into the kitchen, pointing out the amenities. "Replicator, fridge, sink, dish fresher, stove."

"Gas or electric?"

"Gas."

"Excellent." He opened the fridge and all the cabinets, which were bare. "I'll need to go shopping tomorrow."

"There's a farmer's market at the capitol most mornings. Though, I don't think they'll have your plomeek."

"Why is it that Humans think all that Vulcans eat is plomeek?"

–

"Why are your ears like that?" Penda Uhura asked, piling another helping of sukama wiki onto her plate.

"Penda!" Uhura's mother admonished.

"What?"

"That's very rude."

"I do not find to be as such," T'Pring stated. "Curiosity is to be expected from small children."

"I'm twelve."

"And therefore you have lived only eight percent of your life, providing that you die of old age and not in some terrible accident."

"What T'Pring means to say," Uhura translated, "is that she is open to any questions about Vulcan culture. Is that right?"

"Affirmative."

"Okay. How come there aren't hardly any black Vulcans? Ow!" Penda bent over in her chair to rub her ankle. "You said I could ask questions!" she whined to her sister.

"There are relatively few 'black' Vulcans because the majority of the aid ships were sent to areas primarily inhabited by Vulcans you would consider white."

"Wow. That's really messed up."

"Affirmative."

–

"Geoff tells us your mother is Human," Ms. M'Benga—call me Eva—said, piling a ludicrous amount of moros onto Spock's plate. "Will you be visiting her—Geoffrey, don't make that face—what?"

"My mother is dead."

"Oh. _Oh._ "

"Ah, I remember Geoff saying something about that," Mr. M'Benga—call me Apple Pie Motorbike—said.

"That's right! He said not to mention it, or ask any questions."

"Of course, we both had about half a bottle of absinthe in us at the time."

"As you typically do when I vidcall," Geoff said into his wineglass.

–

"So," Cupcake's sister started, stabbing her tafelspitz, "how many innocent people did you kill this tour?"

"I dunno. How many married professors did you blow this semester?"

"You're such a twat."

"Well, you're a stuck-up cunt bag."

"And you're a mamas' boy who wouldn't be saying half this shit if they weren't off planet."

"What's a cunt bag?" Kirk quietly asked.

–

"Oh my god. Why haven't I eaten this before? It's like an explosion of happiness in my mouth." Sybok licked the powdered sugar from his lips.

"Are you eating that or blowing it?"

"I would blow this, if I could. Seriously, if your cum tasted like this, I would need knee pads."

"You're drunk."

"I'm not drunk. I'm euphoric."

"That's the first stage of deep fried Twinkies. There are five others, none of them pleasant."

"Win me a cheap stuffed something."

–

"T'Pring and I have an announcement," Uhura said, standing up from her chair at the dinner table. "A few months ago, T'Pring asked me to marry her, and I said yes."

"Oh my god! Let me see the ring!"

"Oh, um, I have an engagement necklace." Uhura pulled her necklace out from under her top. "See?"

"In my culture, only prostitutes wear rings," T'Pring explained, causing Uhura's mom to glance down at her own hands self-consciously.

"Have you set a date?" Uhura's mother asked, taking off her rings under the table.

Uhura sat back down. "We don't have a concrete date yet, but we figured we'd get married on Earth before the next tour."

"You better get on it. That's only six months away. When I married your father, it took us a year to plan the wedding."

"Yeah, and look how well that turned out," Penda snarked.

"I don't think it will take that long. It's not going to be a big wedding," Uhura explained, nodding at T'Pring.

"My entire family is dead."

"Oh. I'm sorry. But, no matter how small the ceremony, it takes time. Most caterers won't even considering booking less than four months in advance. Don't get me started on the cake."

–

"Why name your son 'Geoffrey?' It is not a common name in neither Cuban nor Benga cultures," Spock said, juggling the double negatives of the Spanish language.

"It's a funny story. Have you ever heard 'Kensington Monster Truck' by Geoffrey Ferguson?" Eva asked.

"I cannot say I have."

"You really should give it a listen. Terrific didgeridoo. Anyway, that's the song that was playing when Geoff was conceived."

–

"—inconsiderate, megalomaniacal douche bag who couldn't dance his way out of a paper bag to save—"

"—ungrateful shrew with hair the—hold on," Cupcake took the comm out of pocket. "Hello?"

"Hey, can you talk?" Uhura asked.

"Yeah." He walked into the living room. "What's up?"

"Do you want to be my maid of honor?"

"What? Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Isn't the maid of honor traditionally a woman?"

"Yeah, and traditionally I'd be marrying a man."

"Wouldn't you rather have your sister do it?"

"She's twelve."

"What about Gaila? You guys were close at the Academy."

"I'd prefer to have a maid of honor who understands the concept of marriage. If you don't want to do it—"

"No, no. It's not that."

"So you'll do it?"

"Yeah, I—"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! The first meeting is on Tuesday. Bye."

"Wait—meeting?"

–

"You realize we're the oldest people in here by about thirty years."

"Yeah. I'm a Vulcan, though. 'On my destroyed planet,'" Sybok affected an accent worthy of T'Pau, "'we do not have llama or kangaroo. What is the function of kangaroo? It's method of locomotion is most ill—'" He took his comm from his pocket. "Hello?"

"Greetings, Sybok. It is T'Pring."

"Can I comm you back? I'm petting a llama right now."

"Is that a euphemism?"

"No. I'm in a petting zoo."

"What is a petting zoo?"

"It's an enclosure filled with farm animals that you are allowed to pet and feed a mixture of corn and seeds. Except for the pig. You can't feed the pig."

"That sounds filthy."

"They make you wash your hands afterward."

"I will allow you to resume your animal fondling momentarily. Seeing as Nyota desires to have a Terran-style wedding—and I have little reason to object, IDIC—I will be in need of an assistant who aids me in the preparation of the wedding. Apparently, this is a position of honor meant for the closest friend or sibling of the bridegroom. Seeing as it would be wildly inappropriate for Spock to perform in that capacity as he is my ex-husband and Nyota's former lover, you are my only option."

"Gee," Sybok deadpanned. "I'm honored."

"Do you accept this role?"

"Sure."

"We will meet on Tuesday in Paris. I will comm you when further details are available."

Sybok closed his communicator and shoved it in his pocket.

"Who was that?" McCoy asked, maneuvering around a very curious goat.

"T'Pring. She wants me to be her special helper person for the wedding."

McCoy whistled. "Good luck. Human weddings are a much bigger production than Vulcan's."

"I lived in India for two years. This wedding should be a comparative walk in the proverbial park."

–

"Hey," Geoff said, walking out of the bedroom.

Spock put his PADD down on the coffee table. "You are awake earlier than usual."

"I'm still a little jet-lagged." He sat cross-legged on the couch next to Spock. "I see you made a friend." He gestured the ginger tabby napping in Spock's lap.

"He wandered in while I was meditating. Does he have a name?"

"Titian. He's the commune cat. From what I remember, he used to like the woman who lived here."

"Why did she leave?" Spock asked, scratching Titian's ears.

"Artistic differences. She maintained that there was a difference between high and low art. A big feud erupted a couple months between her and the Andorian who makes t-shirts. It was a mess. But, at least it gave us our own house to stay in while we're here. You don't mind staying at the commune, do you? I haven't lived on Earth in about a decade, so..."

"I do not mind. I find it very peaceful here, with exception of the sound of chainsaws at midnight and the neighbor spot-welding outside our bedroom window."

"People around here tend to be in their own head space. Being considerate to the neighbors is not too high up on their to-do list."

Spock's PADD chirped. He picked it up. "It is a text message from Sybok. 'Oh my god, Spock. Have you heard about deep-fried Twinkies? If you have, why didn't you alert me of their existence earlier? Zoxo Sybok."

"Zoxo?"

"I believe that is how it is pronounced."

"Let me see. Oh, that means hugs and kisses."

–

"Here is the current status of the wedding: we have no cake, no caterer, no dress, no location, no date, no one to officiate, no color scheme, no venue, no wedding party, no reception hall, no photographer, no DJ, no decorator, no honeymoon, no gift registry, and no guest list," Uhura rattled off over a latte. "We need help."

Sybok raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"I've watched several romantic comedies since we last spoke—although many of them were neither romantic nor comedic—and I have pretty good idea of what manner of hilarity is supposed to ensue prior to and during a wedding. Do you want hijinks? Do you want them planned or do they just occur naturally? Because, in good faith, I couldn't force a child to run around naked."

"No. Um, I don't want hijinks. But thank you for the research."

"I believe the wisest course of action would be to set a date first," said T'Pring, bringing up a holo-calendar on her PADD. "We will be needed back at Starfleet Headquarters a week prior to our departure."

"How long do you want your honeymoon to be?" asked Cupcake.

"About two weeks," Uhura answered

"I say you do the second weekend of November. That gives you enough time for your honeymoon without encroaching on the winter holidays."

"What do you think about the second Saturday of November?" Uhura asked T'Pring.

"Acceptable."

"Okay. Second Saturday of November it is. As for location, I was thinking a mountaintop somewhere in South America."

"That won't work." Sybok shook his head. "Vulcans get altitude sickness very easily. T'Pring would be passed out in a puddle of her own vomit before you walked down the aisle."

"So, no on the mountain. How about the Florence Baptistry?"

"You'll never get a reservation this late," Cupcake said. "My aunt booked two years in advance to get married _outside_ the baptistry. And she's Catholic."

Uhura sighed. "Pringle, you have any ideas?"

"I have no preference as to where we are wed."

"No. No. Don't say that." Sybok shook his finger in the air. "It'll make her think you have no interest in the wedding and by extension your future marriage, and she'll call the wedding off and run away somewhere. And you'll have to find her and make some grand romantic gesture, and then you'll end up getting married in a bus terminal or somewhere equally ridiculous. It's a bad path to go down. You won't get your deposits back, that's for damn sure."

"I suppose I would prefer a location that is warm, or has artificial heating. A Catholic church is out of the question. I do not wish to be married under a sculpture of someone being murdered."

"I don't want a generic church or reception hall wedding. I want it to be someplace special. Meaningful."

"Okay," Cupcake said. "What do you two like to do together?"

"Intercourse," T'Pring answered.

"No, I mean, like, what do you like to do on leave?"

"Intercourse," T'Pring said slowly.

"Besides intercourse."

"Eat out—"

"Not intercourse!"

"—at local restaurants," T'Pring finished pointedly. "See theatre, go shopping, visit museums."

"There you have it!" Sybok exclaimed. "A theatre or a museum."

"Theatre is a no go," Uhura said. "Second weekend of November, Christmas shows will either be in tech or performance."

"What about in areas not populated with Christians?"

"Even there," explained Cupcake, "pantos will be going up. It used to be just areas that Britain colonized, but now you can go to Laos, Papua New Guinea and still see one. The genre spread like herpes."

"I'm good with a museum. Pring?"

"A museum is acceptable."

"You guys figure out the museum, then you can start with the reception hall, the catering, the guest list, and all that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back home before Jim starts tearing up my furniture."

–

"Honey, I'm home!"

"I'm in the kitchen."

"Hey, what are ya makin'?"

"Nothing in particular. I'm experimenting with a few things. Are you..."

"I'm fine. I'm sorry I left you alone all day. It was something I had to do alone."

"How was Joanna?"

"Same as she always is." Leonard sat down on a stool at the kitchen counter. "Jocelyn was there."

"That had to be awkward."

"Yeah. She hardly let me get a minute alone with my girl."

"Here." Sybok floated a plate to the kitchen counter. "Taste that."

The doctor stared at the thin slice of whatever what was on the plate. "What is it?"

"Taste it."

"Fine." McCoy reluctantly took a bite, and then another, and then another. His eyes widened. "That tastes like bacon. That tastes exactly like bacon."

Sybok smirked. "You said if I could make vegetables taste like bacon, you'd become a vegetarian."

"I didn't think you could do it. The best food scientists on Earth have been workin' on meatless bacon for centuries."

"The best food scientists on Earth don't have plomeek."

–

"We've decided on a location," Uhura said cheerfully, over bites of her croissant. "We will be getting married on November 12th, 2263 at the Jacobs Cetacean Institute."

"The who-da-what astute?" Cupcake asked.

"The Jacobs Cetacean Institute. It's an aquarium for whales in San Francisco."

"Oh my god!" Cupcake covered his mouth, attempting unsuccessfully to keep from laughing. "That's the haunted whale museum!"

"What? It's not haunted."

 _What does haunted mean?_ T'Pring mouthed to Sybok.

He reached across the tabled and grabbed her wrist. //It's when the katra of a dead person resides within the building, occasionally causing mischief and/or terror.//

//Is that possible?//

//I don't know. Humans seem to think it is. They've made thousands of films about it//

//Maybe it is a phenomena that can only occur on Earth, or only to Humans.//

//That's why you have to bond katras with Uhura. She can't haunt anyone then. She'll go to Sha-ka-ree with you.//

//I will discuss the matter with her as soon as possible.//

Sybok released T'Pring's wrist.

"It's totally haunted! How did you not hear about this at the Academy?"

"I didn't hang out with a bunch of losers who told ghost stories."

"It's not a ghost story. It's the god's honest truth."

"Fine. Who haunts the museum?"

"The lady it's named after."

"Why would she haunt her own museum?"

"It's not her museum. It's owned by family of the guy who invented transparent aluminum. He bought it after he heard her story."

"What's her story?"

"Wait, I don't want be a loser telling ghost stories."

"Stop being a jackass and tell the damn story."

"Okay, so, it's 1983 and America is still entangled in the Cold War, and the humpback whale is nearly extinct due to overfishing. Dr. Jillian Jacobs is the head biologist at the Cetacean Institute, which is home to two whales named George and Gracie, who Jacobs cared for like her own children—and she didn't have any of her own 'cause she was a nerd who hung out with whales all the time. Anyway, due to underfunding, George and Gracie would soon be released back into the wild, where they would surely be killed by hunters. Jacobs tries her damnedest to keep the whales, but the Institute releases them early, without letting her say goodbye. That same day, after seeing that the whales were gone, Jacobs disappears never to be seen again. This would unremarkable if Russian fishermen hadn't reported two whales vanishing out of thin air that very day.

"The police never solved Jacobss disappearance, but history has given us two theories. One, she couldn't take losing George and Gracie and committed suicide. Two, she was kidnapped and murdered by the Soviets."

"What? That's completely ridiculous."

"Is it? A few days prior to her disappearance, San Francisco citizens reported a mysterious Russian man asking them where he could find nuclear wessels."

"Wessels?"

"Vessels. He had an accent. Around the same time as those reports, a Russian man was captured by officers of the US Navy for breaking into a vessel with nuclear capabilities, but he got away never to be –"

"—to be seen again. Why would the Soviets go after a biologist?"

"Because she was the beach head of the effort to save the whales—a campaign that relied on the end of whale hunting. At that time, whale hunting was one of the few industries supporting the fragile Soviet economy. The Soviets figured if they killed Jacobs the whale preservation campaign would die with her. Ironically, they couldn't have been more wrong. Her disappearance revitalized the campaign, leading to an outpouring of corporate donations like that of Dr. Nichols, and the eventual passage of an international treatise severely limiting the hunting of whales."

"What happened to George and Gracie?" T'Pring asked, thoroughly immersed in the story.

"Most people think that, after Jacobs died and turned into a ghost, she brought George and Gracie into the spectral realm and back to the Cetacean Institute, where they remain to this day."

"So, according to you," Uhura said, "the site of our wedding is haunted by not only a Human woman but two whales."

"Hey, that's not according to me. That's according to the Cetacean Institute. Take a look at their website if you don't believe me."

T'Pring pulled up the Institute's webpage on her PADD.

"Click on nightly tours."

"'The Jacobs Cetacean Institute offers evening tours on Friday and Saturday,'" read T'Pring. "'Come see if those tales around the campfire were true.'"

"Oh my god," Uhura exclaimed. "We're getting married in a haunted aquarium."

"Can you cancel your booking?" Sybok asked.

"No. It was the only museum that was open that day."

"And now you know why," Cupcake quipped.

–

Spock's comm buzzed on the desk. "Hello," Geoff answered.

"Hey, it's Sybok."

"Hi. Spock's posing for a painting right now. He can't talk for at least two hours."

"No, that's fine. I wanted to talk to you actually. It's a bit of an emergency."

"What's going on? Is everything okay? Are you sick?"

"No. I'm okay. I, um... Your mom's Cuban, right?"

"Yeah."

"Does she know any Santeria priests that she could recommend me? I need an exorcism done."

"No. I don't—she might actually." He held the comm away from his mouth. "¡Mami! ¡Mami!"

"¿Qué?" she yelled from her studio. "Estoy pintado eh-Spock."

"¿Concoces algunos padres santeros?"

"No."

Geoff put the comm back under his mouth. "She says she doesn't know any."

"Okay. Thanks for asking."

"What's the exorcism for?"

"The wedding. I have got to get rid these ghost whales before the big day. The girls are pretty freaked out about it."

"I never took Uhura to be one to believe in ghosts. And even if she did, she probably wouldn't be afraid of them. If anything, they'd be afraid of her."

"It's not that. She's more worried about the novelty aspect of it. The cheese factor. She said it would be like getting married at Disneyland. Speaking of that, did you manage convince Spock to go with the rest of the group?"

"Yeah. I told him there was a ride completely dedicated to tea, and that he could make Kirk wear a hat with funny ears. Sort of an inverse of what normally happens."

"Great. I'll see you Thursday."

"See you Thursday. Bye."

"Bye."

–

"What was your favorite part?" Kirks asked, kicking Cupcake's leg under the covers.

"I dunno. I had a lot of favorite parts."

"Mine was when Chekov puked."

"Which time?"

"Every time. That shit never gets old."

"And he kept eating and going on rides."

"How about when we went in the haunted mansion and Uhura started crying?"

"You're a dick, Kirk. You really are."

"It was fucking hilarious, okay. I know you were cracking up on the inside."

"Maybe a little, but I had the decency not to laugh out loud like some people."

"What about when we were having dinner and Scotty ordered cheese cake and Mickey sat down next to him and pretended to eat it—"

"And Spock said if he didn't stop, he would report him to his manager?"

"Oh my fuck. I'd never seen Sulu laugh so hard. He had to hide under the table because he was fucking losing it so bad."

"How about when we were on the flume ride and we went down the water fall and all three of the Vulcans start yelling—"

"'You did not inform me that this was a water ride!'" Kirk and Cupcake shrieked in unison.

"I think, I think," Kirk said, "T'Pring actually said 'aquatic amusement.'"

"Oh god." Cupcake grabbed his belly.

"It was a good day."

"Yeah."

–

T'Pring and Sybok stared at the giant, twelve-story bridal emporium.

"It is rather large."

"How many different dresses can there be? They only come in one color."

"What does this experience entail?"

"You try on several gowns, typically while twirling to a pop song, until you find the right one."

"How do I know which dress is the right one?"

"Um, you just know apparently. Like there's this force that compels you, or the dress glows. I think it might be something to do with your ovaries. The movies never quite explain it completely."

"That process could take hours."

"I know."

"Perhaps if we ran inside very quickly it would be less painful."

"Yes."

Neither of them moved.

"I do not want to go to there."

"Me either. Do you want to pick out a pattern and have me make it?"

"Yes. That would be... yes."

–

"Spock? Are you in—What are you doing on the floor?"

Spock rolled to face Geoff. "I am enjoying the rug."

"Okay." Geoff knelt down next to him. "Your eyes are incredibly dilated. Did you hit your head?"

"No." Spock wiggled on the floor.

Geoff felt something sticking into his bare knee. It looked like— "Spock, do you know what this is?" he asked, holding a stem on his finger, which Spock quickly lapped. "Did my parents give this to you?"

"No." Spock wriggled some more. "Ms. Nishida gave it to me. She said Titian would like it and he would purr for me."

It was then Geoff noticed the low rumbling emanating from Spock's chest. He had to laugh.

"I love you, Geoffrey." Spock rolled his head onto Geoff's lap.

"I love you, too." He scratched behind the Vulcan's ears.

–

Sybok lit a bundle of sage, and waved it over his head. "Katra of Dr. Jacobs, Gracie, and George... please leave... Thank you."

"That's it?" Uhura asked, turning off the camera. "No one is going believe you exorcised—"

"What do you want me to do? I'm a therapist, not a katra herder."

"I can't believe this." She sank to the floor.

"Why are you so upset about this?"

"I'm not. I..."

"What?"

She sighed. "My father is a ghost hunter."

"Pardon?"

"He travels around the galaxy, searching for ghosts. That's why my parents divorced. He was never home. Even today, I rarely see him... He's always working. I don't want him to come to my wedding solely because he thinks there will be paranormal life forms at the reception. I would rather risk him not coming to the wedding at all."

"I'll give it another go, okay? I'll draw a pentagram on the floor and light some candles. Maybe we can even get Julius and stage a fake blood sacrifice."

"Thank you."

–

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCK.

McCoy threw his front door open. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! It is three in the everlovin' mornin', Jim! Get your ignorant ass in here."

Kirk shuffled over to the living room and sat down stiffly.

"Now, what in God's green Earth is so important that you fly half way across the planet to bang on my door at three AM, waking up my got-damn Vulcan?"

Kirk held up a shiny, gold ring.

"Sweet mother of pearl, Cupcake proposed?"

Kirk shook his head.

"You proposed?"

Kirk shook his head again.

"Well, somebody better be proposin' 'cause I didn't wake up for this shit. If I wanted a got-damn mime, I'd call M'Benga."

"I... I... I was walking around Vienna, and I saw this ring in a shop window. So, I went inside and bought it. I even made sure it was his size." He pulled a chain out from under his shirt. On the end was a red Starfleet class ring, which Kirk held up to his gold ring. Perfect match in fit.

"You wear each other's class rings?"

Kirk nodded. "It's 'fleet brat stuff. Parents give their kids their class rings to wear around their neck while they're off planet. Like a security blanket." Jim suddenly looked ten years younger. "Bones, I'm gonna marry that guy. I don't know when, but I'm gonna do it."

"You're all grown up, kid."

"I guess we all are now."

–

"Whooooo! I'm getting married tomorrow!"

"Uhura, I think you should slow down."

"Is that an order, captain?" she giggled, climbing on top of the bar. "I love you guys. You're my boys. Even you Gaila. You're all my boys. Scotty, Scotty, you are really, really funny and you talk like everything's a question. Sulu, um, I like you even if your hobby involves carrying around a symbolic penis. Chekov, if I were a cannibal, I would eat you first. And not just because you're a virgin. Riley, we should clone you and send you to all the other planets so they could all have a funny, little Riley person. Gaila, you look like St. Patrick's Day. M'Benga, when I get mad when people ask if you're my brother, it's not because I don't like you. It's because they're racist. McCoy, I would totally do your ex-wife. She is really hot. Keenser, you're my boy, Keenser. You're my boy. Kirk, Cupcake, you guys should get married and have a hundred babies."

Kirk went white as a sheet.

"Okay, you're done," Cupcake said, throwing Uhura over his shoulder.

"Vhat do you think ze Wulcans are doing?" Chekov asked.

Sulu took a sip of his beer. "Probably playing scrabble."

–

"Oh my god, I am so fucking baked right now!" Sybok laughed. "Where did you get this shit?"

"The pet store," Spock replied, clearing his lungs of smoke.

"I love this planet!"

T'Pring staggered back into the living room. "I think the brownies are done."

Sybok handed her the bong and the lighter. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." He toddled off to the kitchen.

"You know what the best part is?" Spock asked a little too loudly.

"What?"

"This is completely legal. We can bring as much as we want on board. I could even order the botany bay to grow it for us."

"Oh! You know what we should do? We should open a catnip farm."

"That would be so logical."

"Hey, I'm back." Sybok ambled aback into the living room, carrying a tray of brownies. "The brownies are done. I hit 'em with a bit of nitrous oxide, so they shouldn't be too hot." He placed the tray next to the bong, and flopped onto to the carpet.

T'Pring grabbed an entire handful of brownies, not bothering with the butter knife Sybok brought out. "Mmmm. These are so good."

Spock jammed a fistful into his mouth, humming while he chewed. "I like eating with my hands, because you're eating but you're also masturbating."

Sybok ate straight out of the tray. "Spock, do you ever worry about M'Benga's penis?"

"No," Spock said with his mouth full of chocolate goodness. "Should I?"

"The Human penis has a serious design flaw. It's out there all the time. No natural lubrication. Just hangs there. I worry about McCoy's penis. Anyone could step on it."

"I was never fond of penis," T'Pring announced.

"No?" Sybok asked. "Not even mine?"

"No. I think it was just a college thing. Everyone experiments at university."

"Well, here's to T'Pring," Sybok said, raising the tray in the air, "and a lifetime of vagina."

T'Pring and Spock foisted their brownies high. "To T'Pring," all three said, "and a lifetime of vagina."

–

"Ooooooooh," the entire wedding party sans Uhura snickered, as three Vulcans with three very conspicuous pairs of sunglasses entered the hotel lobby. All three reflexively covered their ears.

"Heard you guys had a lot of fun last night," Riley chortled.

"From who?" Sybok asked.

"Y'all left us some very interesting comm messages," McCoy explained with a wicked grin.

Spock's ears turned green, while T'Pring hurried off to get ready.

"To all of you?"

"Da. Ewery single vone of us."

"Oh, god."

"Dude, I can't believe you got Spock stoned!" Sulu grinned, wrapping his arm around Sybok's shoulder.

"Technically, Spock got us stoned. I merely got us drunk."

"You got cross-faded before a wedding? Bro, that is epic!"

"Ye better watch your breathin', Mr. Spock. You wouldn't want all the cats of San Francisco stormin' in here."

–

"Hey, Nyota. What's the emer—holy shit!"

"Is it that bad?" Uhura rinsed, rubbing her freshly shaved head.

"No. No. It's fine." Cupcake started to hyperventilate. "Frankly, I'm flattered that you wanna look like me that much."

Uhura took a shaky breath. "Shit. Shit!"

"What happened?"

"My hair kept bunching under my veil, so I decided I'd trim a little off, but I kept trimming and trimming and trimming, until there was an inch left and it was all even, so I shaved it off."

"It could be worse. You could be white and look like a neo—Do I look a Nazi? Fuck, I'm Austrian too! Is that why Chekov's so afraid of me? Do people think I'm a Nazi?"

"No. No. They think you're nice."

"Then why was I first to beam down to that Nazi planet?"

"At least you look good bald. My head doesn't have the shape for this!"

"It'll be okay."

"No, it won't! People are going to gawk at me, they'll all be whispering as I'm walking down the aisle. And they won't be saying, 'Oh, Uhura, she looks so beautiful.' They'll be saying, 'Oh, Uhura, does she have radiation poisoning?'"

"That's it!"

"What? We'll tell everyone I have a radiation poisoning? I'll think they'll notice when I don't die!"

"No, no. Um, we'll say you shaved your head in-in solidarity with victims of radiation poisoning!"

"That's... that's good. We could have all the ushers tell people as they're being seated. Real casual-like. 'Oh, have you heard about so-and-so on such-a-ship? Radiation sickness. Terrible. The bride is rather distressed by the lack of treatment options. She even shaved her head."

"Pound it."

–

"Okay, gather round everyone. Is this everybody? Okay. Um. Hmm. I'm going to need all of your help to start this marriage of with a huge, gigantic lie. Uhura fucking lost it and shaved her head. She is completely bald. In an effort to make her look not batshit insane, we will be performing the biggest wedding day hoax since _Seven Brides for Seven Brothers_ —if you didn't get that reference, you suck. The official story is that Uhura has shaved her head in solidarity radiation victims. Kirk, I want you on point for this. I gotta deal with Cue Ball." Cupcake sprinted back to Uhura's room.

Kirk stepped forward. "Here's how's it's gonna go down. I want every usher to make some reference to Uhura going bald. We don't want any gasps when she walks down the aisle. Sybok, your job's to break it to the future Mrs. Uhura. M'Benga and McCoy, I want all the medical mumbo jumbo you've got on radiation poisoning and the most promising new treatments. Gaila, Keenser, and Scotty, I want giant holograms of radiation victims put up in the reception hall, but keep it classy. Riley, Chekov, Sulu, you're my go-to guys at the reception. Make sure this doesn't get too over the top, and that all the guests know this is about raising awareness, not money. Use flattery if you have to. We've got a lot of important people at this wedding. Let them know their influence could cure this. Penda, Uhura's mom, act slightly disapproving. If anyone asks, say you wish she had waited until after the wedding. Let's make some magic happen."

After everyone had gone off to their separate tasks, Spock approached the captain. "What is my assigned duty?"

"Um..." He looked around the room. "See those programs over there? Make sure they're folded evenly."

–

"Hey, ko-kai," Sybok said, stepping into T'Pring hotel room. "I've got some bad news."

"What is it?"

"Uhura shaved her head. She's bald."

T'Pring went back to applying her eye shadow.

"You don't seem unsettled by this."

"No. This will not affect our relationship. Except, now, I will not have anything to hold onto whilst pegging her canine-style."

"Do you need any help with your dress, because, if you don't, I'm going to go in the bathroom and pour ammonia on my eyeballs."

–

Two minutes into the wedding, Sanchez had already started crying. Frankly, he was surprised the waterworks hadn't started up when Sulu told him how Uhura had sacrificed her hair for radiation victims. Or, even when he was sitting there waiting for it all to start, he could read the plaque on the wall, detailing Dr. Jacobs' commitment to her whales, nearly made him tear up.

Sanchez always cried at weddings, and this was no exception.

The tears really got rolling when Uhura's mom walked to her seat. He knew why she walked alone—people told their dentists everything. He knew about the terrible divorce that made Uhura begin to grind her teeth at night as a teenager. He respected that woman, and the nightguard she provided her daughter.

He only wept more when the brides' maids marched down the aisle in pairs. Gaila (amalgam filling on 5) and Scotty (chronic dry mouth), McCoy (TMJ) and Riley (slight overbite), Penda (currently in braces from what he could see) and Spock (never any cavities), and Cupcake (twelve implants) and Sybok (smoke and tea stains).

Then the flower girl/necklace bearer, Keenser (gingivitis), who, coming from a planet with no concept of gender, was willing to act as both.

T'Pring (lower left wisdom tooth about to rupture) was resplendent in a white silk gown.

And, finally, Uhura (mild enamel loss), with her shiny bald head and beautiful dress.

Sanchez was not the only one who clapped when she appeared.

Then, the surprise guest, Admiral Christopher Pike, who at some point had been ordained on the Internet, and was going to officiate.

"You may all take your seats. God knows I already have. Dearly beloved we are gathered here today in this aquarium to celebrate the joining of Nyota Uhura and T'Pring," he mumbled incoherently for a moment, "two extraordinary women who have become not only the best in their fields, but the best in their virtues. Nyota has committed her life to listening to people, to finding out ways two different people can better understand one another, and to honoring the differences that make this galaxy so remarkable. T'Pring has harnessed her unparalleled knowledge of weapons systems not to destroy others but to shield them from harm. She exemplifies the best of Vulcan, not only through her obvious belief in infinite diversity in infinite combinations, but by talking of peace as if there is no other way. I like to feel in some small way responsible for this joyous occasion, for, had I not noticed their talent and ingenuity and recruited them for Starfleet, they may have never met. Ladies, your vows."

Uhura cleared her throat. "T'Pring, I promise to always listen and respect what you are saying. I promise to never go to bed with cold feet. I promise to love and care for you in your _Time_ of need."

"Nyota, I promise to be illogical for your sake. I promise to not get re-married too soon after you have died. I promise to love and cherish you, and treat you as you deserve to be treated."

"By the power vested in me by Universal Ministries dot com, I pronounce you wed. You now may both kiss the bride."

Beautiful, just beautiful.

–

The reception was less awkward than anyone had imagined. No one made a big deal about Uhura's head—apparently, they were too distracted by a very emotional dentist. The Vulcans did dance—quite well actually, with the exception of Spock, who spent the entire reception swaying slowly in M'Benga's arms. Coincidentally, his fixed position earned him the bride's bouquet, which Uhura purposefully tossed his way, knowing he would enjoy the snack. T'Pring seemed to underestimate her strength when throwing the garter belt, which landed on Kirk's head, who had pointedly stood as far away from the throwing as possible. He turned beet red and ran for the bathroom. Dinner was vegetarian only, but no one seemed to mind. Penda Uhura summoned up enough courage to ask Chekov to dance. She was not impressed when he said she could stand on his shoes. Riley's first gig as a professional DJ was deemed a great success, but he did have a pre-made playlist on iTunes to work with. Sybok remembered to bind T'Pring and Uhura's katras before he was too horribly intoxicated. The cake was good, but the Fudgy the Whale groom's cake was deemed tacky.

Years later, the wedding would be credited for the creation of Starfleet's state of the art radiation treatment center.

–

"It's good to be home," Sybok said, stepping into his and McCoy's shared cabin.

"I feel we just left," McCoy grumbled.

"Yeah, I could go for another vacation."

"Wait five years and you'll have it."

Sybok sighed.

"What?"

"Kirk's here. He's pacing in the hallway."

"Let him in."

Kirk stomped through the door and into their living room. "Have you seen the couples' quarters? They have an attached nursery! We're not even engaged and Starfleet is pushing babies on us." Kirk threw his hands in the air and stormed out.

"Good god."

"What?"

"We're gonna have half a dozen Kirk spawn running around here soon."

"You think?"

"If he's freaked out about somethin', that means he's gonna do it."

"I won't be able to swear in the corridors any more. Shit."


	8. Chapter 6: Dysfunction

"This is nice," Kirk said, stepping onto the transporter pad. "You know, just the three of us beaming down. Like old times."

"I would hardly call beaming down to notify a people of their planet's impending destruction 'nice,'" Spock said, taking his place next to the captain.

"You of all people probably shouldn't be in this landing party. I'll make it up to you later. I'll buy you a burrito."

"Damn it," McCoy cursed, coming into the transporter room. "I thought if I was late enough, you'd leave without me."

"Dr. McCoy, you are just in time to surgically extract the captain's foot from his mouth."

"You keep doin' that, Jim, I'mma hafta start chargin'."

Spock's nose wrinkled as the doctor walked onto the transporter. He opened his mouth to get a better grasp of the scent.

"What's the matter with you?" asked McCoy. "You look like a goldfish."

"I was merely attempting to ascertain which bodily fluid is making you smell of Counselor Sybok. I now have my answer. Might I suggest, doctor, thoroughly cleansing your entire body after sexual congress?"

"Might I suggest, commander, you stop sniffing your crew mates like a perverted bloodhound?"

"Boys, play nice," Kirk chided.

"Ready when you are, captain," said Kyle from behind the console.

"Engage."

Kirk, Spock, and McCoy molecules reassembled on the blatantly deserted surface of Sarpeidon. Spock immediately pulled out his tricorder and began scanning.

"Looks like someone beat us to the punch," McCoy observed.

"This is impossible," Kirk said. "There were millions of people here just an hour ago."

"Perhaps it was a computer malfunction," Spock suggested.

"Maybe they're all inside," McCoy offered. "Could be the Sarpeidian Sabbath."

"Any signs of life, Mr. Spock?"

"One. A Sarpedian male, approximately seventy years of age, average health, high pulse—"

"I want a location, Spock," Kirk snapped, "not the man's life story."

"He is located in that building." Spock pointed to a building about half a kilometer away.

"Let's get moving," Kirk ordered. "Grandpa might know where the others ran off to."

–

"Mr. Atoz, I do not believe you realize the possible ramifications of your people's escape plan. Sending modern Sarpeidians into the past could result in serious alterations to the timeline, and it hardly solves the problem of evacuation. The descendants of those sent into the past will themselves have to time travel to escape the supernova. It is even possible that they already have—that I have conversed with your great-great-grandfather, and will converse with your great-great-grandson about this very matter."

"Cool," Kirk said across the room, pointing to the atavachron. "It's like a movie."

"Mr. Spock, you say you come from Starfleet, so you yourself engage in similar activities. The only difference between my people and yours is that we travel in the fourth dimension, and you in the third. Your meddling with other cultures is as serious an offense as our—"

A woman's scream erupted from the atavachron's speakers. Kirk, being Kirk, ran toward it, disappearing into the past. Not wasting a moment, Spock and McCoy followed after him, only to find themselves on a frigid mountain top. "Jim! Jim!" McCoy yelled.

"It is of no use. It is obvious he is not here."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know." McCoy hugged himself. "It's colder than a witch's tit. You've got to be freezin'."

"I am—" Spock passed out.

–

Spock's eyes opened slowly. He was in a cave, the air was cold, but he was covered in animal furs. There was a woman—his kidnapper, apparently. He tensed as she moved toward him.

"You're awake," she said, holding out a cup of steaming liquid. "Drink this. It's just warm water. That's all I have."

Spock shook his head, backing away from this strange woman and her poison.

"Are you sure?"

If she leaned in close enough, he could grab the hot liquid and throw it in her face, then he could run far from here, back to the one who would be his bonded.

McCoy entered, zipping up his fly. "You're awake."

Spock nodded.

"Those pointy ears don't handle changes in air pressure too well. This is Zarabeth." McCoy pointed to the woman. "She lives here." McCoy glanced at the fire. "Looks like dinner's ready."

Zarabeth removed a stick propped over the fire. She took a hunk of meat, and passed the skewer to McCoy, who passed it to Spock. Animal flesh.

"Leonard told me you don't eat meat, but this is all I have," she smiled.

He needed his strength to run, so he ripped a piece of meat from the skewer. He waited for her to take a bite, before sinking his teeth into the morsel. It was gamy and foreign, but would have to do.

McCoy took a seat next to Spock on the bed. Zarabeth sat on a nearby boulder.

"So, how'd a nice girl like you end up in the ice age?" the doctor asked.

"I was banished here after two of my kinsmen conspired to kill Zor Kahn. He was my planet's leader." Lies, all lies. She was sent here for kidnapping virtuous young men—Spock knew it. "Many people, like my uncles, thought he was tyrant who usurped the rightful leader Zai Yin. It was rumored that Zor Kahn sent her into a period much like this. Of course, anyone who spoke such things was banished, as well. Along with jay-walkers and people who spoke at the theatre."

"And there's no way you go back?"

"No, but, even if I could, I would not. The isolation has done wonders for my creative output." She gestured to a charcoal sketch of a hand—Spock's hand—on the far wall. Strange woman, no right to draw his hands. His hands—not hers. She could not take them as her own. "You, however, might be able to go back. I'm not sure."

"We should return, now," Spock said weakly.

"Spock, you're in no shape to walk three feet, let alone five thousand years. Besides, we don't even know how to get back, if we even can."

"Do you remember where you emerged from?" Zarabeth asked.

"Yeah. A rock face about a kilometer from here."

"Then that is how you shall return."

Spock leapt to his feet immediately, but was overcome by a wave of dizziness, sending him back onto the bed.

"Easy tiger," McCoy said softly. "I don't know why you didn't that get surgery to correct this."

"That surgery you speak of, Dr. McCoy, is incredibly painful and can only be performed on children. It would have caused me to miss an entire day of school."

"You wouldn't sacrifice one day of class for a lifetime of benefits?"

"At the time, it seemed logical."

Zarabeth yawned, curling up by the fire. "It is time I sleep. You are welcome to use my bed." Yes, yes, Spock knew what she meant. She closed her eyes.

"We could both use some shut-eye. I'll take the floor," McCoy said to Spock.

"That is not necessary. The bed is large enough to hold two people, and we both require body heat."

"You sure?"

"Certain."

McCoy lay down between Spock and the cave wall. That wouldn't do. He needed a barrier between him and that woman—the protection granted by a kinsmen—his brother's mate by the smell of it. He waited until he was certain the woman was asleep, before he crawled between McCoy and the wall.

"Spock," the doctor whispered. "What in the devil are you doing?"

"I'm using you as a shield."

McCoy rolled over to face Spock. "What are you talking about?"

"I need you to protect my virtue."

"From what?"

"The woman."

"Zarabeth?"

"Yes. It is clear she's after my virtue; she can probably smell it. As a female, she will stop at nothing to get it. I must preserve my virtue, if I am to give it to Geoffrey. He will hardly accept a mate who is not virtuous."

"I knew I shouldn't have let you eat that meat. You're all loopy."

"It is not the meat. My ancestors consumed meat for millennia prior to the Enlightenment."

"So, say, five thousand years ago, Vulcans could digest meat."

"Yes. Is that not what I have just said?"

"The altitude must be addling your brains, if I'm getting this before you do. Spock, all this time-traveling has made you cave man—you've reverted to what your ancestors were like five thousand year ago. That's why you're going ballistic over Zarabeth."

"No, I am 'going ballistic' because you are not fulfilling your duty as an elder—"

"Watch it, pointy-ears."

"—clan member to protect me."

"What do you call me dragging you out of the cold?"

"You left me alone with a strange woman—a criminal, I might add—who proceeded to produce pornography of me while I was unconscious." Spock pointed to the charcoal sketch of his hand. "If you will not eliminate this threat, I will be forced to do it myself."

"You've really lost it. You've gone completely bonkers. From zero to homicidal in two hours. We gotta get you out of here."

"Haven't I been saying that?"

McCoy threw off the covers, standing up next to the bed. "You think you can walk."

"I think." Spock rose to his feet, but swayed, only being kept upright by McCoy's steadying hand.

"It looks like I'll hafta carry ya. Y'know what a piggy-back ride is?"

Spock nodded.

"All right." McCoy bent at the knees. "Hop on." Spock foisted himself up using the doctor's shoulders, then wrapped his arms around his neck and legs around his torso, resting his head on McCoy's shoulder. "Steady." McCoy crept around the fire.

Zarabeth stirred. "Are you leaving?" she yawned.

"Yeah."

"Bye." She closed her eyes and rolled over.

McCoy was almost to the cave opening when Spock yelled, "You are a very bad woman, and you will never taste my virtue!"

–

When Spock and McCoy emerged from the Atavachron, Jim was sitting on a table in the library, unsuccessfully attempting to pout with a split lip.

"What happened to you?" McCoy asked, lowering Spock to the floor. The Vulcan adjusted his tunic.

"I got mugged."

"By who?"

"The woman I heard screaming. After I fought off the guy I thought was attacking her, she punched me in the face, stole my boots, and threw me into a brick wall, which sent me back here."

"Where is Mr. Atoz?" Spock asked.

"Somewhere in the eighteenth century with his family."

"C'mon," McCoy said. "Let's get off this rock."

–

Geoff pulled back. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes. I would not have offered if I was not certain." Spock's lips returned to Geoff's neck.

"Spock, Spock," he pushed the Vulcan away. "We've been making out for a half an hour—"

"Twenty eight minutes and thirty four seconds."

"—and you're fully sheathed. Usually, by this time, you'd be sending me to the bathroom so we can both have some alone time."

Spock stood up from the bed, facing away from Geoff. "I thought I would be able to overcome my dysfunction, but it obvious I cannot."

Geoff slid to the other side of the bed and took Spock's hand. "Not being able to get an erection once doesn't constitute as dysfunction."

Spock jerked his hand away. "I have repeatedly demonstrated an ability to achieve an erection through normal sexual stimulus."

"Then how is it that nine times out of ten you get hard while we're making out. I seem to recall several occasions where you got more than hard."

"Those incidences," Spock turned, "were abnormal in nature."

"I can't believe you." Geoff shook his head. "We've been together for three years and you choose now, after we've moved in together, after you've met my parents, after we've had a kid together," he pointed at Julius, who was chewing on wheat grass in the corner, "to start the self-loathing bisexual routine." Geoff got off the bed, and pulled his shirt on over his head.

"It is not an issue of sexual orientation."

"Then what is it? Is it because I'm Human? Or that I'm Black?" Geoff crossed to the other side of the bed.

"It has nothing to do with you are, and everything to do with what I am."

"What are you?"

"I am a sexual incompetent." Spock sat on the edge of the bed. "Psychologically, I do not perceive myself as desirable unless I am wearing Terran women's undergarments, thus am unable to become aroused if not wearing said attire."

Geoff lowered himself onto the bed, carefully crossing his legs. "So," he coughed, "if we were to have sex, you would wear panties, or a thong, or a negligee, or a corset?"

"Yes."

"And those times we've fooled around and you've gotten hard, you were wearing...?"

"Yes."

"That's..."

"Geoffrey, I can hear your heart beating quite rapidly. Am I correct to assume it is pumping blood to your penis?"

"Yeah."

"Shall I, as they say, slip into something more comfortable?"

"Yes, please."

–

Geoff giggled, his head resting on Spock's corseted chest. "Wow. That was... wow."

Spock stroked his hair. "If you do not regain coherency soon, I will be forced to summon Sybok to treat you for post-meld delirium."

"I'm fine." He glanced up at the Vulcan. "I never thought it would be like that."

"I must admit that the physical aspect of intercourse was not what I expected."

"It was good for you, right? You did...?"

"Yes. It differed from my expectations in that, in most of the pornography I have viewed, the penetrating partner pulls out before orgasm and ejaculates on the receiving partner's face."

"Oh... would you be into that?"

–

Sybok placed his left hand on M'Benga psi points, but hesitated before doing the same to Spock. "So-kai," he said, wrinkling his nose. "I'm not bonding you guys until you wash your fucking face. That's disgusting."

–

"So," McCoy said, watching Spock and M'Benga walk out of the door hand in hand. "That ever gonna be us?"

"I thought you didn't like it when I came on your face," Sybok said, blowing out a candle on the coffee table.

"You know what I mean."

"I don't know. Maybe. Someday."

"You don't know."

"Yeah. Contrary to popular belief, I can't read the future."

"I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?"

"Play wait-and-see with you. I can't keep biding my time, hoping you won't leave me in five years to meditate in Tibet or drop acid in Amsterdam."

"Biding your time? Is that what you've been doing for the past three years?"

"I've been waiting for you to decide whether you're in this for forever, or just until the next best thing comes along."

"There is no next best thing. You're best fucking thing that's ever happened to me!"

"Then why aren't we bonded?"

"Because I don't want to rape you!" Sybok shouted.

"What?" McCoy whispered.

"I've been trying to hold it off, but no Vulcan can avoid it. Not even me. I won't let that happen to you again."

"I've given you my consent. It's not the same and you know it."

"I've seen it, Len. It's not about love or sex—it's rape. And I won't do that. I won't be the mate my father was."

"What does Sarek have to with this?"

"Nothing."

"No. You brought it up."

Sybok collapsed onto the sofa. "He... I saw him. In Paris right before the wedding. He didn't say anything, but he looked at me. And..." He laughed mirthlessly. "You know what my father thinks about whenever he sees me? The week he spent raping my mother. That's how I was conceived. Not some one-night stand like he told me when I was young. No. They were married—bonded since children—but he would rather have me think she was just some fling than have me know the truth. He could feel her fear, but kept going. He kept going until he gave her fistula. He raped her for so long, he put another hole inside her.

"He said she died of a brain aneurysm while giving birth to me, but I saw the doctors explain how she bled out in the cave, how she could have survived if she had gotten the fistula treated before the contractions hit, but she was too ashamed. She couldn't even tell a doctor what had happened. She pissed herself for six months."

"Sybok." McCoy sat next to him on the couch, taking his hands. "You're not your father. You would never do that to me."

"That's the thing. He didn't want to do it, but he couldn't stop. His time was forcing him to be something he wasn't. Just like the man in the cell next to me at kolinahr training. I don't want to turn into that."

"You won't."

"You can't know that for sure."

"Me and Geoff and Uhura—we've been doing research. From the ancient text's Uhura's translated, it looks like pon farr is a biological fail safe for Vulcans who don't have the power to bond psionically. It creates biological bonds, typically through pregnancy. But, in the case of infertile and same-sex couples, through oxytocin—a neurotransmitter associated with close, emotional bonds that is released by orgasm."

Sybok's frown quickly turned up at the edges, as he dissolved into a fit of uproarious laughter. "So," he hiccuped, "you're saying," he broke down again, "sorry, that, during pon farr, my only goal in life if to give you as many orgasms as possible?"

"That's what the research indicates."

"Whew." He wiped his eyes, resting his head on McCoy's shoulder. "You should've told me that earlier."

The doctor cupped his chin. "You should have told me about seeing Sarek earlier."

"I know. I wanted to, but there was the wedding, and then Uhura went bald, and Spock came to me, freaking out about how that cave woman who kidnapped him made him realize he wanted to have sex with Geoff, and I had to draw him all of these diagrams, and then he made me sew him a new corset for tonight."

"Come again?"

"Spock wears women's underthings."

"You still have the corset pattern?"

"Yeah."

"You ever consider makin' one for yourself?"

"Do you know how ridiculously complicated making a corset is?"

"Come on. For me. I'll let you come on my face."

"Fine, fine."


	9. Chapter 7: Sybok: God Smasher

"What did you do?" McCoy growled, slamming his hands down on Sybok's craft table.

"I didn't do anything," Sybok said around the pins being held between his teeth.

"You're blocking me. The only time you block me is when you've done something you're feelin' guilty about."

Sybok removed the pins from his mouth, stabbing them into the shirt he was working on. "That is not true."

"First time, right after we get bonded, you eat the pears I was savin' for breakfast. You block me. Then, last week, you block me after throwing my favorite shirt in the recycler."

"That shirt was ugly."

"It was from Ole Miss."

"Ole Miss has shit taste in shirts. Red and blue? Are you kidding me? If those were my school colors, I'd transfer."

"That's my alma mater you're talkin' about."

Sybok smirked. Leonard was so easy to distract.

–

"Everything came back normal. I can't seem to find what's wrong with you," M'Benga said from his desk chair. "Although, it would be easier if you told me why I'm running every neurological scan in the book."

"I..." Sybok looked down at his hands. "Are you sure I don't have a tumor?"

M'Benga nodded.

"Shit." He sighed. "I've been hearing voices."

"Voices?"

"One voice, actually."

"Does this voice happen to have a Southern accent and gruff demeanor?"

"No, it's not Len. It's... God."

–

Sybok sat low in the conference room chair, trying with great difficulty to persuade the floor into swallowing him whole. As the ship's senior officers filtered in, he steadied himself in preparation for what was sure to be the most humiliating conference since the captain got his hand stuck in a pickle jar.

"Okay," Kirk glanced around the room. "That's everybody. Counselor, you may begin your briefing."

"Um," Sybok stared down at his hands, "I'd like to preface this by saying I am not crazy. A few days ago, an entity claiming to be God—"

"Which god?" Uhura asked.

"Uh, just the generic patriarchal omnipotent monotheistic god. He sounded like He might have a beard. He, uh, started communicating with me, telling me I was special and his right hand in the physical plane. I tried blocking Him, but that didn't work, so I had M'Benga run a few tests, and it wasn't physical, so here I am..."

Riley raised his hand. "Why are we having a meeting about this? It seems, y'know, personal."

"Oh, God wants me to brainwash all of you, steal the Enterprise, and drive it through Great Barrier." Stunned faces stared back at Sybok. "What? I'm not going to do it."

"That's because it's impossible," Scotty said. "No probe has ever returned from there."

"He mentioned that. He gave me instructions on what to do with the shields, so we could get through. Also, some stuff on faster than warp 10 travel." Sybok passed Scotty a PADD. "Here. It might not all be spelled correctly."

Scotty quickly glanced over the PADD. "Did the Almighty happen t' give ye any other technological breakthroughs?"

Sybok shook his head.

"Scotty, T'Pring, I want a drone made with those specifications," Kirk ordered.

"Capt'n, the formulas seem solid, but that's a lot of work for what could be a madman's delusions."

"Sybok," Kirk turned to face the counselor. "What does the matter-anti-matter reactor do?"

"Um... react?"

"There's no way he could've come up with that on his own," the captain explained. "He's not that smart."

"Is it possible that you are channeling a higher being?" asked Spock. "We have contacted numerous deities in our travels, it could be a similar creature."

"Or," Chekov started, "it could be God."

"I don't think so. Besides the telepathy, He doesn't seem that all-powerful, and he lies. I don't think God is supposed to lie."

"What's he lyin' about?" McCoy asked pointedly. //'Cause if it's about hearin' the voice of God, you two got somethin' in common.// he said through their bond.

//I'm sorry. I didn't want you to worry.// "He, um... According to Him, beyond the Great Barrier is-Sha Ka-Ree."

"Sha-Ka-who?" Cupcake asked.

"It's the Vulcan version of Eden, or Vorta Vor, or Qui'Tu—it's where all life originates and ends. He said that, um, my mother was waiting for me there—which I knew isn't true, because, one she's dead, and two her katra—that's soul for those not in the know—is housed in the katric ark on Ek'tra."

"God sounds like a manipulative douche," Sulu said.

"Starfleet Command has granted me permission to divert our course to the Great Barrier. We should be there in two days," Kirk said. "I want that drone fully operational by then."

–

The senior officers watched the live feed from the drone's camera on the conference room's vidscreen.

"Breaching the Great Barrier in three, two, one," Sulu counted down, steering remotely from a console on the conference table, with T'Pring and Scotty at his side. "Breach successful." Scotty and T'Pring bumped fists over the pilot's head.

"Is that a planet?" Uhura asked.

"Class M according to the drone's readings," Spock answered.

"God says that's where He lives," Sybok relayed.

"Bring her down, Mr. Sulu," Kirk ordered.

"Okay," Sulu said. "Contact in five, four, three, two, one."

"Oh, come on!" Riley cried, after getting his first look at "God".

Uhura laughed. "You owe me ten credits."

"What?" Sybok asked.

"Your God appears to be an energy creature," explained Spock.

"That makes—what?—twelve this mission," Cupcake said.

Sybok grabbed his temple. "Um, God says he needs a bigger ship than that. He wants the Enterprise."

"What does God need with a starship?" Kirk asked.

"I don't know I'll—" Sybok collapsed, his body seizing on the dock.

"I do not think God likes to answer questions," Chekov said.

McCoy cradled Sybok's head in his lap, while M'Benga whipped out his tricorder.

"Bones, you getting anything?" Kirk asked.

"No, the son of a bitch is still blocking me."

"Allow me." Spock knelt down, placing his fingers on his brother's psi points. "My mind to your—" An invisible force threw Spock across the room.

"Anybody else really scared right now?" Riley shouted.

"The creature," Spock said hoarsely, struggling to his feet, "is projecting more thoughts than Sybok's brain can process, with the intent of causing pain."

M'Benga looked up from his tricorder. "His cortisol levels are maxed from total psionic overload. He's got maybe five minutes like this before his brain starts to liquify."

"Captain," T'Pring said, "while I would normally suggest non-violent means of intervention to disable the energy creature, I believe this situation warrants, as you would say, blowing this motherfucker back to kingdom come."

"Anybody have any objections?" Kirk asked. Everyone shook their head. "Okay. Mr. Sulu, do your worst."

"Making contact with creature's power source," Sulu said. "Drone detonation in five, four, three, two, one."

Sybok sat up, gasping for air. "Took you long enough."

–

"You don't get to do that again," McCoy said, running his fingers through Sybok's hair. "We're in this together."

"I didn't want you to worry. I was trying to protect you."

"I'm not some damsel in distress. I don't need you protectin' my delicate sensibilities."

"I know. I..." Doubt and fear flowed through the bond. "I was afraid you would want to break the bond, if you thought I'd gone crazy."

"Hey," McCoy stroked Sybok's eyebrow. "I'm not goin' anywhere. Considered me old-fashioned, but when I bind my soul to an alien, that's for life."


	10. Chapter 8: The Old Man and the Sehlats

"Say what you will about the Ferengi," Sybok said, flopping onto his hotel bed, "they know how to treat their customers."

"They give me creeps." McCoy sat at the foot of the bed, untying his boots. "If this was real shore—"

//Shut up! The bellhop is still in hearing range.//

//You mean in the building? I swear, someone with that good of hearing who doesn't fetch or roll over is unnatural.// McCoy threw his boots across the room.

//You know, we could probably get the bellhop to do that, if we gave him enough latinum.//

//I forgot about that shit. How much more do we have to unload before next week?//

//At last count, three bars and twelve strips.//

//I wish someone would tell Starfleet that I'm a doctor, not a Lurian heiress.//

//Poor Leonard, getting paid for spending money.//

//You can't tell me you don't have any moral objections.//

//This is hardly what I signed up for, but I'm not going to whine about having money in my pocket for the first time in, y'know, ever. The way I see it, this is the same as any other diplomatic mission. Except, instead of using words, we're using gold pressed latinum. I mean, when in—//

//What?//

//Kirk's at the door. He appears to be in distress.//

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Come."

The door slid open, and Kirk rushed in, sprinting for the bathroom. Sybok and McCoy heard the tell-tale sound of gagging and fluid gushing into the toilet bowl. Kirk flushed, and stumbled out of the bathroom.

Sybok gaped. "You look like shit... Captain."

Kirk sneered, wiping his mouth.

"Any other symptoms?" McCoy asked, taking his medical tricorder out from his suitcase.

Kirk lifted his shirt, revealing a belly covered with hives.

"You didn't eat any of the slugs they leave under the pillows?" the doctor asked. "You know you can't have mollusks."

Kirk shook his head, taking out a small velvet box, which he threw to Sybok. The Vulcan opened it and snickered. "He picked something up from a prostitute," he said, showing McCoy the box's contents.

The doctor snatched the box. "That's an engagement ring. He's going to propose to Cupcake."

"Oh. That... That actually makes less sense than my idea."

"Here." McCoy jabbed Kirk in the neck with a hypospray. "That should help." He handed Kirk the box, patting him on the back. "Good luck, kid."

Kirk nodded, and left.

"You don't want me to get you a ring, do you?" Sybok asked. "Because, to me, giving you a ring wouldn't signify you being my husband, so much as you being the most profitable prostitute in my stable."

"No." McCoy glanced at his class ring. "Does this make Starfleet my pimp?"

–

"I can't eat any more," McCoy groaned, throwing his napkin on his plate.

//You have to order something else, if we're going to stay in our budget.//

"If you make me eat another bite, I will throw up on Keenser." McCoy turned to his left. "No offense."

"None taken," Keenser said, pushing away hir half-eaten cup of fruit salad. "I might throw up on you."

Across the table, holding hands with Cupcake, Kirk gently tapped his fork on his glass. Not a one of the twelve other people eating with them stopped talking. "Guys..." He sighed. "We have..."

Cupcake whistled loudly, causing Spock, Sybok, T'Pring, and every Ferengi in the hotel restaurant to grab their ears in pain. "Sorry. We... uh... shit." He held up his left hand, pointing to his ring finger.

"Oh my god!" Uhura squealed in uncharacteristically high voice that, once again, elicited pained expressions from the more aurally sensitive persons in the room.

"It's about time," Scotty said, raising his glass.

"I would have asked earlier, but there's been a rash of Vulcan-Human weddings lately," Kirk explained, glaring at Spock and Sybok. "I didn't want to steal anyone's thunder."

"Captain, you could hardly purloin thunder. It is not a proprietary entity."

–

"Hey," Cupcake greeted the approaching counselor, who was currently weighed down by about a dozen shopping bags. "You need a hand with that?"

"No, thank you. Super-strength." Sybok set his bags down against the wall. "Have you seen T'Pring or M'Benga?"

"No, they haven't showed up yet."

"They're probably still shopping. Did you get anything yet?"

"No, I'm going in for a few big purchases. Probably gonna buy a new violin."

"Do you play?"

"Yeah. The one I have is pretty beat up. I've had since I was seven. I always planned on using it to teach my kid to play, and getting a nice, old one for myself. And, now that I'm engaged and everything, it kinda seems like the perfect time."

"How many children do you plan on having?"

"Just one. We agree that, even with the new family programs, having more than one and being in Starfleet is too much. And, if you have a bunch of Austrian kids and teach them how to play music, people start to make _Sound of Music_ jokes."

"I know I base all of my major life decisions on the possibility of others making references to classic musicals."

T'Pring and a blushing M'Benga rounded the corner.

"Hey," Cupcake called. "You guys go shopping together?"

"Not intentionally," T'Pring answered. "We metaphorically ran into each other at the sex shop on the third floor. I aided Dr. M'Benga in his purchases."

"Should we go in?" Sybok asked, pointing to the shop door.

"Our appointment is not for eight minutes and thirteen seconds, but I do not see any harm in entering the store early."

Sybok picked up his bags, and walked into the dark, empty shop. "Elder Selek," he called, "It's Sybok. I have an appointment." No one answered. "I don't think he's here yet."

T'Pring looked into one of the many cages in the showroom. "He should not leave his merchandise unattended, especially on Ferengar."

M'Benga poked a finger through the grates of a cage. The small, fluffy creature inside licked him. "Hi, hi. Aren't you nice?"

Cupcake stared at the animals wearily.

"You sure you want to get one of these?" Sybok asked. "They can get pretty big."

"Yeah, I'm sure. According to McCoy, sehlats are the only pets with fur that Kirk isn't allergic to."

"He could always get allergy hypos," M'Benga suggested.

"He already does. If he didn't none of the crew would be able to keep pets, but it's different having their hair and dander all over your stuff all the time."

"So-kai." T'Pring's spine went ram-rod straight. "Do you smell vomit?"

Sybok sniffed the air. "No."

T'Pring, seemingly following her nose, headed to the back of the store, going behind a heavy curtain. "Dr. M'Benga, come here quickly."

M'Benga rushed to the Elder with T'Pring, Cupcake and Sybok at his heels. There, amongst a bevy of chocolate wrappers and empty bottles of Romulan ale, was an elderly Vulcan passed out in his own vomit.

"Jesus." M'Benga knelt beside the body, taking a medical tricorder out of his messenger bag, and passing it over the Vulcan. He threw it to the ground, grabbing a hypospray out of his bag. He placed the Vulcan in the recovery position. "You might want to back up." M'Benga administered the hypo, and the Vulcan splashed the contents of his stomach across the room.

"That was awesome," Cupcake said.

"Yeah." M'Benga wiped his hands on his pants. "It beats the old fashioned method." He pulled out his comm. "M'Benga to Enterprise. Five to beam up."

–

"I'm calling 5150," M'Benga said outside Elder Selek's room in sick bay. "For Vulcan his age to drink that much Romulan ale, he had to be trying to hurt himself. We'll have to keep him here. There's no Vulcan psych hospital on Ferenginar."

"There's no Vulcan psych hospital on Ek'tra," Sybok said.

"Should I bring McCoy in on this?"

"No, not yet. They've all been looking forward to that officers versus non-coms laser tag thing. I'd hate to break their game up."

–

"Do you know him?" Cupcake said, gesturing to the unconscious Vulcan.

"No." T'Pring wiped the vomit off of Selek's face. "But he is an elder, and thus deserving of my respect. Far too few of them remain. It is incredibly selfish for him to gamble with his life in this manner." She dipped her cloth in water, and tended to the chocolate on his hands and under his fingernails.

"I don't think people kill themselves to be selfish. Sometimes life's just more than they can take."

"In a world where I am castigated, even by Humans, for not lying on my back with my legs in the air like a beetle and whelping as many Vulcan children as possible, it is only fair that this man be deemed selfish as well, for seeking to deny his people his knowledge and superior genet—"

Eyes still closed, Selek seized T'Pring's wrist. _He burns and yet she denies him. Denies him his blood right. His cross to bear—this woman with her T'Pelih eyes and skin the color of sand. A right conferred to him by generations of tradition and debt. Her family's payment for centuries of working for his House—one son every forty years. One son—his House chose him—the obvious choice. His half-breed genetics and hers bonded at seven years for this day. This day when she denies him—dares to challenge the House of Surak's most famous son. She acts as if she does not belong to him—as if her people hadn't belonged to his. He will show her. He will rip into her challenger—little care he if it is best friend and captain—tricky woman—and take what is his._ Selek eyes opened, and he threw T'Pring into the bulkhead. She crawled toward the med alert button, as Cupcake approached the bed.

"Elder Selek," Cupcake said softly. "We're not here to hurt you. We're here—"

Selek shot out of bed, grabbing Cupcake by the neck. As the security officer's vision neared completely black, Sybok and M'Benga sprinted into the room. Sybok's arms circled around the Vulcan's chest, clasping behind his neck. _His punishment for failing to kill Sybok—for holding on to childish attachments and emotionalism—becomes clear: to watch the minds of his friends be pillaged over and over again. Despite his folksy wisdom and claims that he is "just an old country doctor," Leonard McCoy has always been a man of great dignity. What can dignity can be preserved after kae'at k'lasa?_

Sybok felt the man collapse in his arms, as he heard the hiss of a hypospray.

–

T'Pring stacked the sehlat cages, on on top of the other. "When he touched you—"

"Yeah," Sybok responded, placing a bag of sehlat food on one of the cages.

"It was Spock."

"But it wasn't Spock."

"I saw myself. I was—"

"Me, too."

T'Pring opened her comm. "Two and cargo ready to beam up."

–

M'Benga blinked. "That's impossible."

"What?" Cupcake asked, rubbing his throat.

"I ran a sample of Elder Selek's DNA through the Vulcan database."

"You get a match?"

"Yeah. And how."

–

Spock, Scotty, Kirk, McCoy, and Uhura gathered in sickbay, still in their laser tag gear.

"This might shock you," M'Benga warned, pacing in front Cupcake, Sybok, and T'Pring. "But, going off of my genetic testing and Sybok's reading, that man is an older version of Spock from an alternate universe. Possibly the one that Nero emerged from."

Uhura seemed, for once in her life, unable to form words. "Buh?"

"Holy shit," McCoy swore.

Kirk, Scotty, and Spock shared a nervous look.

"Oh my god," Kirk said stiffly. "How is such a thing possible?"

"This is madness!" Scotty yelled, nodding his head. "I am shocked! Shocked, I tell you!"

"This comes as a complete surprise and is incredibly unexpected," Spock said.

"You knew?" everyone else shouted.

"We said no secrets!" Cupcake yelled at Kirk. "I stuck to that promise, even when the crew was planning you a surprise birthday party, and I told you because you asked, and then everyone was pissed at me for a month!"

"This isn't the same! I couldn't tell you. Starfleet Command forbid it."

"Aye, they wrote up a whole new prime directive fer time-travelin' alternate versions of ourselves! They made us sign it. In blood. Not actual blood—it was just red ink—but it was still very intimidating."

"Then, why'd they tell you in the first place?" McCoy asked.

"They didn't. Me and Scotty met him on Delta Vega—Nero marooned him there after he came through the singularity."

"I called out to him in a crowd, thinking he was Sarek. He turned around, explained who he was, and gave me a motivational speech about following my dreams."

"And that's the only time any of us had seen him," Scotty said. "Until now, of course."

M'Benga sighed. "You can go back to your laser tag. I've got to run a few tests."

–

"How'd the brain scans look?" Sybok asked, sidling up to M'Benga's desk.

"Not good. I'm guessing going through a singularity wasn't exactly kind to his brain."

"It didn't exactly do wonders for Nero."

"Combine that with the unsettling nature of seeing your life unfold completely wrong, and you have a recipe for psychosis."

"Will he recover?"

"I've reversed the degenerative brain damage, but it will return just as quickly if he continues drinking."

–

"Elder," Sybok nodded, as he entered Old Spock's room. "I thought you could use some company." He placed a baby sehlat on the hospital bed.

Old Spock petted it absentmindedly, never looking at Sybok. "It is not supposed be this way."

"I know." He sat in a chair next to the bed.

"I could not save Vulcan. The colony is falling apart at the seams. And, now, my own true home in the universe is not how it is supposed to be. That man, the one you call Cupcake, he is not supposed to be with Jim. You are not meant to be with Dr. McCoy. And T'Pring is most certainly not destined to be with Lt. Uhura."

"Spock, I'm going to level with you, because, in some strange way, we're family. If you don't let go of how things are meant to be, you'll never get better."

"I have to make things right. I am the reason things are the way they are."

"What's wrong with the way things are?"

"Everyone will leave me."

"What?"

"In my timeline, the only reason we stayed together is because we had no one else. None of us had families outside of the Enterprise. Now, McCoy is with you. And Jim is with a person named after a dessert item. They'll leave to start families or to settle down, and my counterpart will be left alone."

"From what I've seen of your timeline, you were never very close to me or T'Pring, but here, you never have to worry about us leaving you alone. And, while Spock's relationships with Kirk and McCoy are far less homoerotic than yours, they have a weird, yet oddly functioning, friendship that will last. We may all leave the Enterprise and T'Pring might go off to Paris with Uhura, and McCoy and I may move to Georgia, and you and M'Benga might move to Ek'tra, but we'll always be close."

"Why would I move to the colony with Dr. M'Benga?"

"Well, he's a Vulcan doctor and that's where all the Vulcans are..."

"Why would I accompany him?"

"Oh, you don't know? You didn't pick that up from me or T'Pring or Cupcake?"

"Evidently, no."

"You and M'Benga are married. Judging by your silence, I'm guessing you and your M'Benga—well, he wasn't your M'Benga."

"We were never close."

"Up until recently, Spock and M'Benga were never close, either. Say, do you like to wear women's underwear?"

–

When Uhura returned from laser tag, T'Pring was staring in their full length mirror, not moving just looking. "Pring, are you okay?"

"I saw me. She did not look like me. Her hands were soft, with long, painted fingernails. She wore far too much eyeshadow. She was heterosexual. Or perhaps she was not. It did not matter. The differences are superficial. She was me, and I am her. She was bound to the same family as I. She made the same decision as I. She chose her life at the potential cost of another. She would not lie prostrate for the House of Surak. She would not accept their method of repaying their generational debt to our clan, neither did I."

–

Uhura crashed through sickbay, like a whirling dervish, upending trays and doctors, until she reached Old Spock's room. "You," she pointed.

"I?"

"You cowardly, Oedipal-complexed, emotionally bankrupt, would-be rapist motherfucker!"

"Uhura," Sybok said, getting up from his chair at Old Spock's bedside. "Now isn't the time for—"

"No, now is the perfect fucking time for this." She turned back to the the elderly Vulcan. "I need to know, right now. Did you have a contingency plan if T'Pring refused you?"

"No. I thought I would be spared."

"You—you thought _you_ would be spared? That—What do you call it when a woman doesn't have the option of refusing sex? What do you call it?"

"Rape," the elder said quietly.

"No, no. You call it pon farr!" Heavy tears dripped down her uniform. "Where's your massive matriarchal conspiracy now, Sybok?"

"Uhura," the counselor growled. "I'm the last person you have to lecture about the Vulcan rape culture, but don't you deny what both me and T'Pring have experienced first hand. Certain Vulcan women—fair-skinned, pole dwelling Vulcan women sold the rest down the river, when it comes to pon farr. You think T'Pau ever burned with her husband? No. Women like her have surrogates, and they look like T'Pring and the people from her village. That's why T'Pring's clan took the reparations deal; their women were going to get raped anyway. And the few modern women who refuse surrogates? A lot of them end up dead, because they won't get medical treatment.

"Please, Nyota, leave him to me, and go take care of your bond mate."

Uhura gave one final look at Old Spock, and left sickbay.

"You're worried about everything, about Spock, about all of Vulcanity, the fate of the universe," Sybok said, advancing toward the med bed. "You want it all to play out just like in your universe. Well, ambassador, your universe _sucked_ for a lot of people. I'm not only talking about the villains—me and T'Pring. No, your Kirk—your best friend Kirk—spent his entire life separated from his t'hy'la, who, by the way, was not you. Your Scotty—you probably didn't know this about him—locked himself in the engine room, because that's the only place where he couldn't hear other people think. And I'm betting you didn't even have a Keenser.

"Look around, ambassador. It's morning again in the Federation. You can either be part of the solution, or part of the problem. You want change you can believe in? Raise less sehlats and more hell! ¡Hasta la victoria siempre!"

"Counselor, I believe I am sufficiently inspired."

"Good." Sybok sat back down in his chair. "Um... drinking is bad. And chocolate, while deceptively tasty, will make you go crazy. So, don't... do that. Try to develop rewarding hobbies. Exercise. Eat healthy. Drink plenty of water."

"Counselor."

"Yes?"

"You are not like my Sybok."

"No. I could never do what he did."

"However, you do seem to enjoy the sound of your own voice as much as he did."

–

"Hello, hello, who's a good little sehlat?" McCoy baby talked, holding a shoestring over Celie's head. "Good girl."

Sybok smirked from the couch.

McCoy scratched Celie's tummy. "Any word from Mr. Tall, Dark, and Alternate Version of Your Brother?"

"Yeah, he sent me a message the other day. He's doing good, still sober. M'Benga's parents think he hung the moon. I think he might be sharing their bed. He's started a cycle of erotic finger paintings. Says he has plans to do naked portraits of full-figured women."

"Old Spock's a dirty old man."

"Yeah, he really is."


	11. Chapter 9: Herbert

Sybok stared determinedly at the stack of PADDs on his desk. "So, we meet again, paper work. I have trained diligently since your last visit. You will find I'm not the easy the mark I once was." His comm chirped. "Oh, thank god." He flipped it open. "Sybok here."

"Kirk. I need you in the transporter room. We've got an infestation of space hippies."

"I'll be there in a minute. Sybok out."

He glanced at the PADDs, narrowing his eyes, "This isn't over."

–

When Sybok walked in, the space hippies were sitting cross-legged on the transporter, chanting "herbert!" over and over again. Great, Sevrinites. And there was the man himself, sitting next to a Catullan, who, if Sybok was not mistaken, was the prodigal son of the Catullan ambassador to the Federation, and thus granting protection to his entire group; a heavily pregnant Andorian shan—don't see that every day; a Human woman with truly tragic hair; a blonde haired Humanoid with a guitar; and a Vulcan male haling from the poles.

"Sybok," Sevrin hissed.

"Dr. Sevrin," Sybok nodded.

"T'Pring," the Vulcan said to T'Pring who was currently fiddling with the transporter console.

"Stonn," she said, looking away from her work.

"Pavel," the Human female said.

"Irina!" Chekov exclaimed, standing at the captain's side.

"Rocky!" Scotty shouted from a Jeffries tube, his laughter reverberating around the ship.

Kirk sighed. "Is there anyone in my crew, who doesn't know one of these people?"

Kyle raised his hand from behind the transporter console.

The Catullan blinked. "Kyle?"

"Tongo?"

Kirk gripped the bridge of his nose. "Counselor, would you mind telling me who these people are, and why they keep calling me herbert?"

"They're Luddites, searching for the planet Eden, which has not been spoiled by technology."

"And herbert?"

"That's a slang term, roughly translating to idiotic, unhip government lackey."

"Oh... Hey! I'm very hip. I am cool personified."

"Sure you are, captain."

Kirk pouted. "Just get them off to sick bay. I don't want Tongo's daddy saying we denied them medical treatment." The captain stormed out, with a hesitant Chekov trailing behind.

Sybok approached the transporter platform, joining his hand together in a loose shape, with only the fingertips touching. The space hippies—with the exception of Sevrin—returned the salute, and started to stand up.

Sevrin held up a hand, ceasing their motion. "He no longer seeks Eden, nor is he a fellow traveler. Sybok has betrayed our cause, becoming the very thing he once despised."

"I no longer seek Eden, because I found it."

"If this is the part where you tell us that it is in the heart of every child—"

"No, I found the planet. It was inhabited by a malevolent energy creature, who sought to steal the Enterprise."

"That was not the true Eden."

"If I a slip of latinum for every time you said that, I could buy the Delta quadrant."

The space hippies tensed, glancing at Sevrin for guidance. He obviously wasn't going to rattle their faith in their leader, but maybe a little divide and conquer would work. "Greetings, sha. May I inquire into the health of your child?" he asked the shen in Andorii.

"My chan is well. Better than your accent," she replied in kind.

"My apologies. It has been years since I studied on Andoria. Our capable medical staff boasts geneticist Dr. M'Benga. He has experience in treating Andorians."

Sh' descended the platform, sparing a glance at Stonn on her way out of the room. The Vulcan hippie followed her. The others quickly followed suit. Even Sevrin.

–

"Sha Thala," M'Benga called, waving her into exam three. Stonn squeezed into the room before Geoff closed the door. "Okay. If you could get on the bed." Stonn physically lifted her onto the med bed. "Alright." M'Benga set his tricorder on Andorian shen, and ran it over Thala's body. He looked up at her. "Have you had regular pre-natal examinations?"

"No."

"I'm sure you're fully aware this is an incredibly atypical pregnancy. Extra care must be taken—"

"If you are implying that we have neglected the well being of our child, I mind meld with the fetus daily to confirm ch' health," Stonn said stiffly.

"A meld can't see everything," M'Benga gritted out. "The fetus appears to be fine, if a little small. Ch' is a seamless integration of Andorian and Vulcan genetics, but you are highly nutrient deficient. Your body isn't built for pregnancy. Calcium is being sucked from your bones, you're anemic. I can give you intermuscular injections that should correct this, but you need to be under the care of a doctor until ch' is born."

Stonn stroked Thala's left antenna, which twitched in agitation. "There was no doctor who would see me. Neither on Ek'tra nor Andoria."

"It is apparent that the Vulcan High Counsel only desires certain types of Vulcans to be born," Stonn remarked bitterly.

"Dr. Sevrin said he could find a home for our child—a world without prejudice."

–

"You cannot confine me here!" Sevrin shouted from his quarantine chambers.

"I'm the chief medical officer. You're the carrier of a potentially deadly bacteria. You do the math."

–

Sybok walked past rec deck 4, then did a double take. No, his eyes weren't deceiving him. Spock was jamming with that pretty boy Adam, and T'Pring was dancing with Stonn and Thala.

–

"I don't know what your game is, Sevrin," Sybok said through the quarantine speaker. "But you better stay the fuck away from my brother and sister."

"Your empty threats—"

"If you or your people go anywhere near them ever again, I will tell your followers and the entire galaxy that you knew you carried a bacteria that would decimate the indigenous population of your Eden."

"You have no proof."

"You know as well as I do that if I yell loud enough, people won't care what I say."

–

After Keenser managed to turn off the hypersonics and the crew came to, the Enterprise was parsecs away from where she had last been, and the space hippies along with a shuttlecraft were gone.

Kirk, M'Benga, McCoy, and a very contrite Chekov beamed down to the idyllic M-class planet the ship orbited.

"I should not heff told Irina about the auxiliary bridge," Chekov muttered.

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Kirk said, reaching out to part the branch of a weeping willow-like tree.

"Jim!" McCoy barked, tricorder in hand. "Don't touch that! The acidity of this planet's vegetation could burn a hole in your hand."

"Nobody touch anything," Kirk ordered, stepping around the tree. Behind it lied the shuttlecraft. And Adam and Sevrin's dead bodies.

"They ate the fruit," Irina said dreamily, crouching in the shuttlecraft, rubbing her burned feet.

"Huh," Kirk remarked. "Another death by irony."

A scream emanated from within the shuttle. Stonn poked his head out the door. "Dr. M'Benga, Thala requires your assistance."

Both doctors climbed inside the Galileo. Thala lied on her back, gripping her swollen belly in pain. Blisters covered her hands. "It is too soon!"

"Stonn," M'Benga ordered. "Get her on her feet."

"I should not be here," the Vulcan responded. "It is not proper."

"Goddamn it, you pointy-eared prick! Do what the doctor says!" McCoy growled.

Stonn lifted Thala to a standing position, keeping a tight grip on her waist. M'Benga pulled down her skirt, crouched down, and looked between her legs. "Ch' is crowning. The burns shocked your system into going into labor. The rapid onset and frequency of the contractions are distressing your baby. We need to get ch' out now. We can't wait until we're back on board. Thala, are you ready to do this?"

She nodded before being overcome by another contraction.

Kirk pulled himself up into the shuttle. "Do you guys need any—oh my shit!"

"Okay, okay. I need you to squat—that's good. Now, push. Come on, push. That's great. McCoy get to catch. Okay, one more. One more big one. That's it, that's it."

A small wail echoed in the empty craft.

"It's blue. Is it supposed to be blue?" Kirk asked, panicking only slightly.

"Here you go."

McCoy handed the baby to Stonn, who instinctively started to lick ch' clean.

"M'Benga to Enterprise. Requesting sick bay beam up for eight."

–

The remaining Sevrinites arranged themselves on the transporter platform.

"Counselor Sybok," Tongo said, very much the studied diplomat, "as another who sought Eden and found only destruction, we request you lead us on the truth path to enlightenment."

"You want me to lead you? I don't know where I'm going half the time. Yesterday, I got lost on deck twelve. I've lived on this ship for five years."

Stonn cradled Geoffrey Leonard—a name Sybok wasn't even going to try to say—close to his chest. "Why send us to Betazed if not for some greater purpose?"

"Because it's close and the Betazoids will find you amusing. They're good people."

"Ready when you are," Kyle said from behind the transporter console. "Engage."

–

"I want a baby."

Cupcake spit out a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. "Now?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."


	12. Chapter 10: Sean Connery

"Captain," Uhura said, turning to face the command chair. "I'm receiving a distress call from Ek'tra."

"Put them on the screen." The calm blues of the Hyntri Nebula were replaced by the stern lines of T'Pau's face. "Greetings, Ambassador T'Pau, matriarch of the clan T'Pirn, head of the House of Sur—"

"Captain Kirk," T'Pau cut in, "time is of the essence. The Enterprise's presence is required immediately at the colony."

"Ambassador, while I would never doubt your wisdom, for fear of losing my testicles, might I suggest hailing the Constitution; they are in your quadrant and could reach Ek'tra—"

"No, this is a problem that can only be solved by the crew of the Enterprise."

"What's the problem?"

"It is nothing we speak of, but, I assure you, it is a matter of life and death."

"We'll be there ASAP." T'Pau's face faded into the dark of space. "Mr, Chekov, chart a course for Ek'tra. Mr. Sulu, warp factor eight."

"Captain, permission to leave the bridge?"

"Of course, Mr. Spock."

As soon the turbolift doors closed in front of him, Spock pulled out his comm. "Spock to T'Pring. Meet me in Sybok's quarters immediately."

–

"All evidence suggests that Sarek's Time is upon us. The sudden diversion to the colony, the unspeakable matter of life and death."

The three Vulcans allowed the reality of the moment to sink in.

"Under no circumstance," Spock said quietly, "will we allow this to happen to you."

"He is your father," T'Pring said, wringing her hands.

"And you are our sister," Sybok stated, forming his right hand in the ta'al.

"He can find another." Spock mirrored Sybok.

Sybok pressed his hand to the front of T'Pring's, while Spock's held his to her palm. "We can't."

"What if there is no other to be found?" T'Pring asked, pulling her hand away.

"There are others," Spock replied. "But none that would fulfill our clan's contract to yours. That is the only reason T'Pau is summoning you. There are hundreds of eligible females on Ek'tra who would not hesitate to join the House of Surak. This is a purely political move."

But, despite Spock's certainty about what was occurring on the colony, only Sybok was asked—nay, permitted—to beam down to the planet's surface. Down to Ek'tra's only nursing home, he went, where the head psychologist greeted him brusquely, "He is in exam four. I believe you know what to do."

Then, roughly five minutes later, at the exact same moment, three different items crashed to the deck on three different areas of the Enterprise: a hypospray in sick bay, a turbospanner in engineering, and a PADD on the bridge.

Sybok was dead.

–

Two phaser rifles, a katana, and a medical tricorder beamed down to Ek'tra. Cupcake pointed his weapon at the first thing to move—a nurse, who didn't blink at the sudden threat.

"Where is Counselor Sybok?" Kirk asked, his voice dangerously low.

"You are not permitted in this ward. If you do not leave immediately, I will be—"

"What are you doing here?" the head psychologist called as he turned the corner. "This is a restricted ward." He noticed the doctor. "Unless the high council has accepted your appeal without informing me, you are not to be within a kilometer of any medical facility on Ek'tra."

M'Benga glanced down at his tricorder, which was currently pointed at the psychologist. "Looks like it's about that time of the decade again. Shouldn't you be at home with your surr—"

"He is in exam room four," the psychologist said quickly, then walked away. The nurse followed suit.

"What was that about?" Sulu asked.

"Nothing," M'Benga answered, taking off down the hall. "The room is this way."

The others went along behind him, weapons at the ready.

"This place gives me the creeps," Sulu said, suppressing a nervous shiver. "It's hella deserted. Where're all the patients?"

"Cured," M'Benga responded. "Most of the Vulcans in nursing homes were elders with Bendii—"

"Bendii?" Cupcake asked.

"Vulcan Alzheimer's. After the destruction of Vulcan, they had no family to care for them. This was the first Vulcan nursing home since the Reformation—it used to be packed with patients."

"And then some upstart mime geneticist had to go and cure Bendii," Kirk said, elbowing M'Benga.

"Here," the doctor said, gesturing to his companions to follow him into the exam room.

Sybok lay motionless on the floor next to hospital bed filled with an old Vulcan man, whose ears were leaking a clear liquid—which could not possibly tears, because, you know, Vulcan. "He took him away," the old man sobbed. His eyes locked on Cupcake and Kirk. "Do not let him do it to you."

"He's alive," M'Benga gasped, kneeling over Sybok with a tricorder.

"Can he travel?" Kirk asked.

"Yeah."

"Kirk to Enterprise. Requesting sick bay beam up for five."

–

"It was a trap," Spock stated, staring at the bulkhead of Sybok and McCoy's living room.

"Really, genius?" McCoy took a slug of Romulan ale straight from the bottle. "Get him to beam down alone to an isolated location and kill him. That was a trap?"

"T'Pau never lied," T'Pring said very far away. "'A matter of life and death.' Sybok's death. Execution of political dissidents is 'nothing we speak of.'"

"It doesn't make sense," Uhura said, her arm around her wife's waist. "Why leave us with so much evidence?"

"Secession," T'Pring answered. "A show of power. Intimi—"

Spock's fist collided with the bulkhead, leaving a decent sized dent.

"Feel any better?" McCoy asked.

Spock shook his head, grabbing the bottle from the doctor and taking a swig.

Four communicators chirped simultaneously.

–

McCoy sat next to Sybok's med bed, his hand resting on the Vulcan's beating heart.

"How?" T'Pring asked M'Benga, who was wrapping Spock's hand.

"I don't know. He's perfectly healthy. His brain is active. Are you certain you felt him die?"

T'Pring raised an eyebrow. "I am fully capable of recognizing when a family member dies, having experienced it eighteen times."

"I cannot feel his presence in my katra," Spock said. "His body is alive, but his katra is not."

–

"Hello?" Sybok called into seeming endless field of nothingness. "Anybody here?"

A young girl with dark brown hair and almond shaped eyes appeared from nowhere—which is where Sybok guessed he was. "Hello."

"Hi. Do I know you?"

"No. I think you might know my dad." She examined him closely, her brow scrunching up. "You're not supposed to be here."

"No... Where is here?"

"Beyond your comprehension."

"But somehow within that of an eight year old."

"Hey!" She put her hand on her hips. "I'm ten and a half." She grabbed Sybok's wrist and yanked him forward. "C'mon. We don't have a lot of time."

"Wait," he tried to pull away, but the girl was freakishly strong. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Didn't your parents ever tell you not to talk to strangers?"

"No. I never met them."

"Oh. I'm sorry.

"It's okay. I can still see them sometimes." She tugged on Sybok's wrist. "Let's go. There's someone who wants to meet you."

–

Spock removed his uninjured hand from Sybok's face. "It is unlike anything I have experienced. I have melded with comatose persons, and they were more present than he. It is as if he is not here at all."

–

"Who are they?" Sybok asked, as the girl lead him through a crowd of people.

She shrugged. "I don't know everyone here. There's too many."

"Wait." Sybok stopped, grabbing a Betazoid man by the shoulder. "I know you. You were my landlord's brother. You—you..."

"It's all right," the man said. "You can say it. I'm dead. I've accepted it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I see a friend over there." The man walked away.

"I think I need to sit down."

"No, we've got to get going," the girl protested. "Pretty soon they'll know you're here and they'll send you back."

"Let them. I can't be here. I don't—"

The girl whistled, and the crowd parted down the middle. At the end was—

"Mother! Mother!" Sybok ran towards her.

Amanda smiled. "You're so tall."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." She embraced him tightly. "I should have been there."

"Shh." She pulled away, placing a finger on Sybok's lips. "Listen to the chaperone. She knows what she's doing." With that, she walked away, leaving Sybok standing alone in the crowd.

"Come on!" the girl called, and he followed.

–

Kirk slammed his fists onto the conference room table. "You're going to tell me what you did to him!"

"I did not do anything to Sybok," the psychologist responded.

"You keep saying that, but I don't believe you."

"Whether you believe me is irrelevant. I speak the truth."

The captain turned to Cupcake, who was standing in a corner. "Throw him in the brig."

"Captain?"

"Do it!"

"It's hardly regulation to—"

"Regulation, lieutenant, says I can hold an attempted murder suspect until we reach Starfleet Headquarters. Which, should be in about three weeks." He smirked at the heavily perspiring Vulcan. "You're not looking too good. I think you might need Dr. McCoy's medical expertise. You know Dr. McCoy, don't you? Sybok's bondmate?"

"Captain!"

"What?"

"You can't treat him—"

"Goddamn it, man!" Kirk's fist banged into the tabled once more. "He hurt a member of my crew!"

"Captain," Cupcake whispered. "You are emotionally compromised. We can't risk you causing a diplomatic incident."

Captain exited the conference room, snarling.

"I'm sorry about that," Cupcake apologized, sitting down across from the psychologist. "He's never had to handle something like this."

"I have heard of his inexperience."

"Yeah, he's pretty green. Frankly, I don't why they gave him the Enterprise. Don't get me wrong; I'm not one to bad mouth my captain—or Starfleet command, but I can't help it after seeing so many of my security officers dying because of his lack of leadership."

"He appears fairly confident in his command decisions."

"Yeah, he looks that way now, when he's throwing a fit, but that's just a show. He's impotent, really. And not just as a captain, if you know what I'm saying."

"I see."

"Are you okay? Is it too hot in here? I thought Vulcans could take the heat, but you're kinda sweaty. Do you want me to turn down the temperature controls?"

"No, that will not be necessary. I have a medical condition."

"Oh. Do you need to see a doctor?"

"No. I merely need to return to my home as soon as possible."

Cupcake sighed. "I wish I could get you home, but we need your testimony. The old man isn't giving us any answers, and we need to know what happened."

"If I tell you, you will release me."

"Yeah."

"After Counselor Sybok beamed down, I sent him to exam room four..."

–

"Who are you?" Sybok asked, following the little girl.

"I'm the chaperone."

"What does that mean?"

"I help people get to where they need to go."

"Like me?"

"No, I don't _have_ to help you."

"But the others? You have to help them?"

"Yep. That's my job."

"Do the others work?"

"No. Just me. It's like this: they're on vacation. I'm the resort staff."

"Why you?"

"I don't know. I guess it's 'cause I grew up here."

–

"Nice 'good cop, bad cop,'" Sulu said, as Kirk walked into his office.

"How's it going?" he asked, gesturing to the vidscreen that showed Cupcake and the psychologist.

"Good. He's finally talking."

"...to aid Elder Sivak," the psychologist said on the vidscreen.

"Aid him how?" Cupcake asked.

The Vulcan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It is not something we divulge to outworlders."

"I understand, but I can't let you go if you don't tell me."

"Sybok is... gifted. We required his talents to cure Elder Sivak of a condition that he had kept secret for quite some time. It was something Sybok had treated many times before. Are you familiar with the concept of katra?"

"Yeah, soul, consciousness, and memories."

"Yes. In the Vulcan species, katra can be separated from the body. In the ancient texts, there is talk of a ritual that involved a person near death transferring her katra to someone close to them. When the person died, her katra did not follow her body to death. A skilled priestess could place the katra back in the body, which would return to life. There is no evidence that such a ritual ever occurred, but many Vulcans continue to transfer their katra to another shortly before death. After a suitable grieving period, those Vulcans would entreat the services of a priestess, who removes the katra.

"During the destruction of Vulcan, hundreds of Vulcans transferred their katra to another, who they believed had a better chance at survival. The most common scenario was a shuttle filled to capacity. Those who did not fit, transferred their katra to cherished ones who did. The Vulcan High Council was not aware of this, until a significant portion of the colony's population began to act erratically. We found that, if katra are not removed promptly, they drive the occupant insane. It was deemed a major crisis, for there was no one alive who could remove the katra. All of the Vulcan masters and priestesses were killed in Vulcan's destruction. The council had choice but to ask Sybok for assistance. He proved quite capable, removing several katra a day. When he was finished, he left for Starfleet. The council thought the crisis was over, but they did not know that Elder Sivak was still bearing the katra of his t'hy'la. T'hy'la denotes—"

"Friend. Lover. Brother."

"Yes, but more importantly, the katra of t'hy'la are naturally bound from conception. For them to be parted is a crime against nature. As such, Elder Sivak was able to disguise his mental illness much longer. It was only after he walked in front of a hovercar yesterday that he was diagnosed. We discovered that he ceased eating, drinking, and sleeping. Were he not Vulcan, he would have died months prior. A brain scan showed that the atrophy caused by the other katra would soon reach his autonomic nervous system. If it was not removed, he would lose the ability to breath. It was imperative that Sybok perform the procedure. It appears that was the last thing he did."

–

"So, all these people," Sybok said, trailing behind the little girl, "they're all dead."

"Yep."

"Am I dead?"

"Nope."

"Then why am I here?"

The girl stopped, turning to face Sybok. "Have you ever been in a whirl pool?"

"No, that's the kind of weather phenomenon I tried to avoid."

"No, not like that. Do you know what a lazy river is?"

"Yeah. You sit in an inner tube and the water's current moves you around the pool."

"A whirl pool is kinda like that, except you have to make it. I've seen a lot of kids do it in their pools at home. They walk around the edge of the pool, until the water moves in that direction by itself. For a while they let the water move them around, but after a few minutes, they usually tried to fight against the current. It looks fun."

"What does that have to—"

"You were in a whirl pool, and you were going against the current, while all those people you brought here were going around the pool, making the current stronger. You got tired, but you were strong, and you got out of the pool for a while. When you got back in, the swimmer making the current was huge, and the water was going really fast. You couldn't fight it anymore. You got swept up. That's why you're here."

–

"From what we got from the psychologist, Sybok's body is in the land of living, but his katra is in the afterlife," Cupcake explained to the group holding vigil at Sybok's

"All we have to do is bring his katra back to life," Kirk smiled.

"Oh, is that it, Jim?" McCoy said, his voice mockingly sunny. "Let's just ask the computer how. Computer, how do we resurrect a Vulcan's soul?"

"Unknown," the computer replied.

"Oh, that's right. We don't know. Because no one's ever come back from the dead before!" McCoy shouted.

"I believe," Old Spock said, walking into sickbay, "I may be of some assistance."

"Oh, great," McCoy groaned. "It's deus ex spockina."

–

"Keep up," the little girl whined. "We're almost there."

"I need to rest," Sybok huffed. "You're going too fast."

"We don't have time for this!" She stamped her heel on the ground, and wrenched Sybok forward. "Here. That wasn't so bad."

"What is this place?"

"It's the border. Your coyote should be here soon."

A blonde boy—maybe twenty-two years old—appeared at the other side of the border. "Hey."

"Took you long enough," the girl grumbled.

"Is this him?"

"Yeah." She turned to Sybok. "This is David. He'll take you from here."

"Take me where?" David reached over the abyss, and gripped Sybok's other wrist, sending an electric jolt through his body. "What was that?" he yelped.

"I think we might have done something to him," the girl said, still holding onto Sybok.

David looked nonplussed. "I wouldn't worry about it too much." The boy flicked his wrist, and Sybok was on the other side, watching the girl from across the border.

She waved. "Bye. Take care of my dad, okay?" She disappeared.

"Who's her dad?" Sybok asked.

David shrugged. "I don't know. We just work together."

–

"How did you know?" Kirk asked.

"I was in the room when Geoffrey's parents received his call," Old Spock answered.

"My parents were in the bathroom when I called. They were showering. Why would you be in the—oh, god." M'Benga's face turned green. "That is so wrong."

"I thought my unique experience might be helpful," the elder said.

"Did this happen to your Sybok?" Uhura asked, holding T'Pring's hand.

He shook his head. "I once died of radiation poising—which I hear you are helping to eradicate—and beforehand, I placed my katra in Dr. McCoy."

McCoy and young Spock shared a look, then scooted their chairs away from each other.

"You died?" Cupcake asked doubtfully.

"I got better. My body was returned to life by a convenient plot device, and a Vulcan master placed my katra back within it. There was a moment, during the fal-tor-pan, when my katra was between my body and Dr. McCoy's. I went to a place that I cannot describe. I believe that is where Sybok's katra is."

"That's a great story, old man," McCoy drawled. "Now, how do we get him back?"

"First, everyone will need to remove their clothes."

–

"You're not as out of breath as you were before," David observed, marching ahead of Sybok.

"Yeah, I guess the terrain is flatter here." He certainly hoped that was the reason. "You're a lot older than the other chaperone."

David laughed. "Not in your universe. I haven't even been born yet."

"You're from another universe?"

"Yeah."

"Is it the one with all the shrimp?"

"What? No. I'm from Nero's universe."

"Did you know him?"

"No. I died a long time before that."

"How old were when you...?"

"Same age as I am now."

"You're not like her, then?"

"No, but most of the others are. I'm..." He sighed. "Why do you ask so many questions?"

"Sorry. Vulcan." He pointed to his ears.

A wicked grin formed on David's face. "I think there's somebody you should meet." He whistled, and a young Vulcan woman with curly hair appeared at his side. He wrapped his arm around her waist, whispering something in her ear.

She smiled, "Greetings, uncle," using the Vulcan familiar for an elder.

"Hi. Do I know—" She disappeared. "Bye." Sybok bit his bottom lip. "How'd she die?"

"Old age."

–

"We will never speak of this," young Spock said, spooned naked between M'Benga and McCoy.

"Kirk," Uhura warned, "That better be your phaser."

"I'm sorry! I can't help it. Look, even Sybok's got wood."

T'Pring shuddered, her breasts pressed into the unconscious Vulcan's back.

"That's because y'all are thinking about sex," McCoy said. "Get your mind out the gutter, people."

"Baseball, think about baseball," Cupcake chanted to himself.

"Daniel," Kirk grunted. "Thinking about well built young men in tight pants doesn't seem to be working for you."

"How long do we have to stay like this?" M'Benga asked the elder Spock, who watched from across the room.

"Until Sybok regains consciousness."

"This is your plan?" McCoy asked indignantly. "Have a bunch of good-looking kids cuddle on the floor naked?"

"The skin-to-skin contact should bind Sybok to this plane of existence."

"You're a dirty old man," M'Benga whimpered.

"Your mother said something similar last night."

Spock had to restrain Geoff from getting up and attacking his counterpart.

"Hey, guys," Sulu said, walking into sickbay. "How's Sybok—Oh. I'll-I'll come back later."

–

"We're almost there. He lives over that hill," which appeared as he said it.

"Why can't you just whistle and have him appear?"

"He doesn't work like that. He... You'll see. You have to go the rest of the way alone."

"Okay."

"Can you do me a favor? When I'm born, tell me to stay away from protomatter."

"Sure."

"Bye."

"Bye." Sybok climbed up the hill, moving easier than he had previously. "Weird." From its peak, he could see a valley, filled with shimmering bodies. As he got closer, he saw that they were people—translucent people. "What the fuck?" He reached out, but his hand went through them.

"It's strange, I know," said a familiar voice from behind him.

"Yeah." He turned. "Hi."

"Hello. You don't seem surprised."

"I figured they were taking me to see you. I don't know if that makes an egotist..."

"If you're anything like me, it does."

"I'm not like you."

"I know. You were raised by Amanda."

"You weren't?"

"My mother lived."

"How? That was before Nero's incursion."

He smirked. "Does your Earth have whales?"

"Yeah."

"You can thank my Spock for that."

"Oh... That Russian guy... He was Chekov?"

"Yes."

"Uhura will be relieved to know that she didn't get married in a haunted aquarium." He glanced back at the translucent figures. "Who are they?"

"Not who. What. These are the bodies of those whose katra were not permitted to pass on to the afterlife. I watch after them, in case their katra are released."

"Is that your job?"

"No."

"Why do you do it then?"

Old Sybok whistled softly, and a Vulcan woman stepped forward. She was, like all the others, nearly see-through, but to young Sybok, she was somehow familiar. "This is our mother. In my universe, she died when I was young. They put her katra in the ark. She will be like this until someone breaks the ark."

"And you want me to?"

"Yes."

"I think we both know how badly acting as a corporeal emissary for an ethereal being has worked out for. I'm sorry about your mother, but I won't—"

"You confuse my meaning. I don't want you to break the katric ark to release my mother. I want you to do it to release _your_ mother. Breaking the katric ark in your universe will have no bearing on the beings here."

"My mother, and all the others in the ark, they're stuck like this on the other side of the boundary."

Old Sybok nodded, then looked down at his counterpart's groin. "Is this stimulating for you?"

"What?" Sybok noticed his erection, and attempted to cover it. "That's—I need to get back so I can have sex."

"The mysteries of the afterlife lay before you, and want to abandon it for coitus?"

"Yeah. I'm really horny all of a sudden. It's like I have the sexual appetite of seven people."

"By all means, return to your world."

"It was great to meet you." He grabbed his counterpart's shoulder.

"Likewise. You are a much better person than I was."

"I know. That's why I have to do this."

And the last thing Sybok did before returning to his body was punch himself in the face.

"Hmmm," he hummed, grinding against Leonard's backside.

"Sybok!" McCoy yipped.

The Vulcan's eyes opened slowly. "I think the story says you're supposed to wake me with a kiss, not a—oh my god! Why are we all naked?"

–

"Hey," Sybok said, standing in the doorway of McCoy's office.

"You should be in bed," Leonard said, not looking up his PADD.

"I don't think bed rest is indicated for visits to the thereafter." Sybok sighed. "I can feel how pissed you are at me. There's no sense in trying to hide it."

Leonard glared. //When are you going to start taking care of yourself?//

//Fine. I'll go back to bed, if you want.//

//It's not about that, and you know it.//

//I had to do it. That man would have died.//

//He died anyway. Jumped off the roof of the nursing home two hours after we left Ek'tra's orbit.//

//That's irrelevant. His suicide doesn't negate the value of his life.//

//What about the value of your life? Old Spock told me how dangerous what you're doing was. Once could kill a Vulcan master. You did it hundreds of times.//

//I had to!//

//No, you didn't. You don't owe those people a damn thing. They kicked you out on your ass—left you to die—when you were seventeen fucking years old.//

//They weren't the ones who did it.//

//They weren't the one you did it for. You saved those people—risked your life—took a few hundred trips to the afterlife all because you thought the High Council would take you back.//

//You don't know—you have no idea what it's like to have nobody.//

//I don't? I lose my mother, my father, my daughter, and I don't know?//

//You had a people, Leonard. That's more than I ever had.//

–

Sybok skulked back into sickbay, a few hours later, when they both had time to cool off. Leonard was nowhere to be found, but Cupcake and Kirk were there, cooing over something.

"Hey," Sybok said.

"Hey," Cupcake responded. "Come here."

He walked to their side, where he see what they so fascinated by—a fetus farm, incubating a nearly done Human. "Whose is this?"

Kirk smiled. "This is ours." He cooed at the child, "This is our boy. Yes, he is, And we can't wait to meet you. We're so glad we could pick you up on Ek'tra before you were done. Now we get to see you get born."

"Whose the mother?"

"Daniel's evil, evil sister. Yes, she's an evil hippy who hates me, but she let us use her eggs to make you. And we're so happy. And the Vulcans were so nice to put you together in their lab, even if they didn't understand why my baby goo was white and not purple. Yes, Sybok has purple semen. And so does Spock. But, not me. No, you were made of out of my white sperm and your Aunt Carol's eggs."

"Do you have a name yet?"

"Yeah," Cupcake said, placing his hand on the incubator wall. "David. David Marcus."

"Kirk," the captain added. "David Marcus-Kirk."

–

When Sybok got back to their cabin, McCoy was sitting on the couch, beer in hand, watching his photo album projected on the aft wall. A younger-looking McCoy holding a baby wrapped in pink blankets. Close up on baby. Then baby, father, and mother, smiling for the camera. "Is that Jocelyn?" Sybok asked, sitting next to McCoy.

"Yeah," he said hoarsely.

"In your mind, she doesn't have a face."

Leonard snorted. "That's telling."

"I didn't know she was Asian."

"Her daddy's from Mongolia."

"How old was Joanna when she died?"

"Six months, two weeks, and three days."

"And that was about ten years ago?"

"Ten years, three weeks, and six days. Three months before our resident mime found the cure that got him into the VSA. I met him back then, I nearly forgot about that. He was the one to give me the gene therapy. Shook my hand, told me how sorry he was for my loss, but at least nobody else's baby would die from xenopolycythemia. All the condolences blended together. I couldn't remember who said what—who I had told."

"Len, I... I met Joanna."

"What?"

"She was there in that place. I saw her."

"You better not be tryin' to make me feel better."

"No, no. I'm not. She was there, Len. I touched her. I talked to her. She was amazing. She took care of me. She was just like you. I didn't know it was her, until now, but I should have. She furrowed her brow just like you do when you're concentrating on something. She even kind of smelled like you."

"Show me."

"Of course."


	13. Chapter 11: Pon Farr and Platonians

"Shh, shh. It's okay," Cupcake said softly, pacing back and forth across the nursery, holding David close to his chest. "Don't be afraid. Go to sleep. Please, go to sleep. Don't be afraid of that stupid sehlat." From under the crib, Ray quirked his head to the side and whined. "Not you. You're a good boy." He looked over at Kirk, who was standing in the doorway, biting his nails. "You have to talk to them."

–

"For fuck's sake, Uhura, open the door!" Kirk yelled, his thumb pressing into the chime with too much force by half.

The door slid open, and Kirk entered their cabin. Uhura looked about as good as Kirk felt. "What?" she snapped.

"Daniel and I have slept a combined eleven hours this week. Your sehlat growling all night—not helping. Shut that mutt up."

"We're trying."

"Try harder."

–

"Nothing seems to be wrong," M'Benga said, waving his tricorder over a frantic Kihika, who was being held down by Spock and T'Pring.

"Are you sure?" Uhura asked. "He's never acted like this before."

"He's the picture of perfect health. Something probably spooked him. My dorm mate's sehlat used to act like this right before a sandstorm. Sehlats have a sixth sense about that sort of thing—they can detect meteorological and biological anomalies before they..." He flicked the tricorder over T'Pring. "Spock, get away from her."

"If I remove my hands, Kihika will—"

"Get away from her."

Spock stepped away, and Kihika ran under the couch.

"What's wrong?" Uhura asked.

M'Benga scanned T'Pring once, twice, thrice for good measure, then sighed. "Elevated respiration, temperature, heart rate, blood pressure. Viscous vaginal discharge. You've gone into pon farr. And, from the close contact you had with Spock just now, you've brought him with you."

–

"You sure you'll be alright?" McCoy asked.

 

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Sybok responded, floating a good two feet off the ground in meditation. "In fact, it's better that you're not here. Too much temptation."

"If you start to..."

"You'll be the first to know."

"This still doesn't sit right with me. The way M'Benga tells it, Spock and T'Pring's hormones could throw you into pon farr along with them."

"I won't let that happen. We have non-refundable deposit on the honeymoon suite at the Risa Arms next shore leave. I'm not going to fuck that up. Besides, even if I do, you'll only be down on Platonius for an hour."

–

"We will be keeping your surgeon," Parmen, the head Platonian, said, reclining on a divan.

"Come again?" Kirk asked.

"My recent infirmity has made it apparent that, while our people are genetically superior, we still require a doctor to tend to unavoidable injuries."

"That may be true," said the captain, attempting diplomacy, "but Dr. McCoy is our doctor. You can't just take him from us."

Parmen smirked, and Keenser began to sing hir home's planetary anthem—which sounded like it was composed by the bastard child of Stephen Foster and Wagner. "You see, captain," Parmen said, turning Keenser to mute. "I can have whatever I want."

"Why would you want _that_?" Parmen's wife Philana giggled.

"Hold on a second," McCoy growled. "I'm not some toy to be fought over. I'm a Human being; I choose where I go and where I stay. And I choose to stay with the Enterprise."

Parmen turned to his wife. "They are so cute when they are upset."

Kirk pulled out his comm. "Scotty, three to beam up." Nothing happened. "Scotty? Kyle? Enterprise, do you read me?"

"They cannot hear you, Captain Kirk. We have immobilized your vessel and disabled all outbound communication."

"You can't do that!" Keenser squeaked.

"We can do whatever we please. Now, let the dumb show begin."

–

Sybok was levitating about an inch from the ceiling when the call came through—not to his mind or his comm, but to his katra.

//Help. Help. Danger.//

//Bonded, what?//

//Trying to take me away. Make me theirs. Take me. Take me//

His mental focus shifting from peace and tranquility to _hunt save mate_ , Sybok fell to the deck, his body flame, his eyes nearly all pupil, ran to the door, down to engineering, onto the transporter.

"Beam me down," he hissed.

"I can't," Kyle answered, trembling in his regulation boots. "Something's shut down the transporter."

"Get me a shuttle."

"We tried that, sir. None of 'em are operational."

Sybok screamed the howl of loss of his ancestors.

–

"Bones... Bones..." Kirk wheezed. "If I don't make it back, tell David and Cupcake..."

"Tell them yourself," McCoy said, jabbing him with a hypospray.

Kirk took in a gulp of air as his throat opened up. "What was that?"

McCoy picked up the half-eaten pear dropped by Kirk. "Kironide. Looks like it's in all the fruit around here."

"What's kironide?" Keenser asked, coming out from under Parmen's divan now that the Humans ceased making strange noises.

"It's an extremely rare mineral. So rare that scientists have no idea what it does, except that it's broken down by the pituitary. Every planet that contains enough kironide deposits for a testable sample, the natives forbid the exportation to outworlders. Say there are some things that are better to be unknown."

"So, you think the kironade is what gives the Platonians their powers?"

"No, Keenser, I thought I'd tell you a nice bedtime story. Of course, that's what I think! All I have to do is synthesize enough kironide and inject you with it, then you can overpower Parmen and get us the hell out of here."

"One problem," Keenser said. "I don't have a pituitary."

"What? What kinda jerry-rigged species doesn't have a pituitary?"

"A proud and noble species that has lived in peace for eight thousand years!"

"Children," Kirk admonished.

"Fine, fine. I'll inject myself with the kironide, seeing as the two of you are biologically impaired."

–

"Parmy-dear," Philana purred, sitting in the stands among the entire Platonian population and Dr. McCoy. "I have grown tired of these creatures. They submit so readily."

Parmen patted his wife's hand. "Fear not, there are a thousand Humans waiting to play."

"Oh goodie," she said flatly. "More Humans."

"Captain Kirk," Parmen called, stopping Kirk's jig. "Have you any other creatures such as the tiny one?"

"You won't take any more of crew," Jim rasped. "They... they won't buckle like we did."

The Platonians laughed.

"No, it's true. We have the galaxy's most powerful telepath on board, and an Orion who-who can sway the wills of man."

"Ooooh," the Platonians cooed. "Ahhh."

"Can we have them?" Philana begged. "Please?"

"Of course, dear."

And so Sybok and Gaila appeared.

"Hi, boys!" the Orion waved, and the Platonians fell at her feet. Literally. Many of them jumped from their seats to her feet.

But not Parmen. No, he was sent across the room, into a wall by Sybok. "You try to take my mate." It was good this blood fever pounding in his ears, saying _take the curtains, wrap them around his neck, and pull_. Never one to refuse his instincts, Sybok followed the directions to the letter.

"Sybok! No!" McCoy shouted, coming down from the stands. "Put him down, now!"

 _Silly, mate. Does not know—_ But, no, something other than the heat made him lower Parmen to the ground. Something cloyingly familiar...

"Good boy."

Sybok seized his mate—beautiful lover equal mate—in his arms. "You?"

"For a little while."

For long enough.

–

"Goddamn it, put me down!" McCoy yowled. "I can walk to my own damn sickbay!"

"No, I don't think you're well enough yet," Sybok said, and floated the doctor just a little bit faster down the hall.

"I swear to god, if I ever get my hands on kironide again..."

He pushed McCoy through the doors of sickbay, where Spock was holding a sleeping M'Benga in his arms bride style. "I thought you would be here sooner," Spock said quietly.

"Well, you know me. I've always had great stamina." He let McCoy down onto the deck. "Any sign of T'Pring?"

"Judging by the Marcus-Kirk family's continued encampment in the VIP cabin, T'Pring and Uhura are still having loud, obnoxious intercourse." Spock placed M'Benga on a medbed, waking him gently by stroking his eyebrow.

"According to the texts," McCoy said, grabbing a medical tricorder from a cabinet, "female pon farr is only supposed to last a couple of hours. They've been at it for a week."

"That's only when the female is bonded to a man," M'Benga yawned. "Her reproductive system becomes hyper-efficient. She conceives within a few hours, and they're done. Heterosexual women typically only go through one solo pon farr before their cycles sink up with their mates."

"Then it's five to seven days of fucking." McCoy ran the tricorder over M'Benga. "You're clean. Take some painkillers and three days off and you'll be right as rain."

Spock loaded M'Benga onto his back, and carried him back home.

"Are you okay?" Sybok asked as McCoy scanned himself.

"I'm fine. Ain't nothing that a few days of bed rest won't cure."

"You don't have...?" The word fistula hung in the air.

"No."

"Oh." Sybok took a deep breath. "Do you think you would be able to get some more kironide for next time?"

"By then Starfleet'll have declared it class z substance. No way I could get my hands on that. 'sides, we don't need it." He smirked. "I didn't need to use it once while we were together."


	14. Chapter 12: Ascension

It was an abnormally inactive day on the bridge, one that surely would have put a lesser man to sleep. (That lesser man being the captain, who had taken to falling asleep with his eyes open on the bridge since the birth of his offspring. Spock did not see what Nyota thought was so "endearing" about this sight, but did find some amusement at Mr. Sulu throwing small projectiles into the captain's open mouth, despite the obvious choking hazard.) The Enterprise was on a "milk run," as the dozing captain called it, which was a fairly common Starfleet mission of "babysitting stars." All of the stars observed from Terra are merely snapshots of what the star looked long ago—how long depending how the distant the star. It was the job of the Enterprise and other warp capable Starfleet science vessels to "check up" on said stars and report back on what they looked like in the present. That day Spock's vessel was cataloguing the remains of Alpha Birvino, a long dead star.

It was one of the less rewarding parts of Starfleet—a torturous boredom that was only broken by putting humorous captions on photos of sehlats. The humor, you see, was that the captions are horribly misspelled with atrocious grammar, because sehlats' first language is not Standard and the species does not have sufficiently advanced speech centers for proper bilingualism. Spock was crafting a particularly droll caption, when he felt a sharp pinch in the kinspace portion of his brain—a relative—distant to be sure—had just died. In shock, Spock sat for a few moments grieving, trying to steady his breath.

"Captain," Uhura said,.

Kirk jerked out his chair, spitting out whatever Sulu had thrown. "What? I'm awake. I'm awake."

"I'm receiving an urgent message from Starfleet command."

"Put it on."

Admiral Komack's face took form on the vidscreen, looking older and more frenzied than anyone had seen him since the Narada. "A series of terrorist attacks have occurred on Ek'tra, leaving eight dead—including Ambassador T'Pau. The preservation of the Vulcan species and culture is of utmost importance to the Federation and, by extension, Starfleet. The Enterprise is ordered to postpone her current mission, and report immediately to Ek'tra to aid in peacekeeping efforts. From your logs, the admiralty has divined that your last visit to the colony nearly sparked a major diplomatic incident. Do not let that happen again. Komack out."

The bridge crew took a collective deep breathe.

"Captain, permission to—"

"Of course, Spock."

–

"Grandmother is dead."

"Oh." Sybok put down his tea kettle. "How?"

"Her apartment was firebombed."

"Do they know who did it?"

"No, but it is obvious who will shoulder the blame."

–

T'Pring couldn't say she was saddened when she heard the news. Her mind pulsed blue in uncertainty. This woman gave her so much pleasure and knowledge, helped her know what it was to have a lover, made her feel like she was more than a half-breed from the tropics... but she also tried to give T'Pring to her son, so he could rape her every seven years. That marked the end of their association. Any fond memories of T'Pau were tinged green by her betrayal—the ruthless logic she was known for. Still, she would go to the grieving ritual, if only to see what was consigned to her in T'Pau's will.

–

"I can't believe she put me in her will," Sybok remarked, looping the black sash of his grief robe.

"She was your grandmother," McCoy said.

"And the chair of the committee that exiled me from Vulcan." He chuckled. "I can see it now, 'And to Sybok, I leave my eternal scorn and resentment.'"

–

"The Council has reviewed your report and found it to be inadequate."

"Inadequate how?" Cupcake asked, too exhausted to be properly terrified of appearing in front of the Vulcan High Council.

"Your data was acceptable, but your conclusions were not."

"How? How were they unacceptable?"

"You say that the attacks were perpetrated by a hyper-nationalist militia operating primarily in the poles, when all evidence supports a coordinated attack by an T'Pelih terrorist cell from the tropics."

"All evidence says that the bombs could only have been manufactured within the city, and they all share a common signature that matches up with the one found on the dirty bombs detonated in the tropic slums last year."

"Which contradicts your hypothesis. If the the bombs share a signature with those used in an attack in the tropics, it is only logical that the bombs originated from the tropics."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would the people in the tropics bomb themselves last year?"

"The Council could no more explain why people in the tropics destroy themselves than why Human women apply hot wax to their genital area. We appreciate your time and effort on what must have been a very difficult project for someone with such limited faculties. Live long and prosper."

–

"This is us." Sybok pointed to a small conference room.

"This it?" McCoy asked, looking around the empty room, which looked like it was better suited to host an internship interview than a memorial.

"What were you expecting? A somber march to Arlington National Cemetery?"

"I don't know. She was the most powerful Vulcan alive. Doesn't that warrant a bit of pomp and circumstance?"

"Not here. We tend to grieve pri—" Sybok fell to his knees.

"What's wrong?"

"Sarek," he gasped, "in the hall."

McCoy glanced up and Sarek and Christine Chapel (?!) were in the doorway. "Is he okay?" Chapel asked.

"I'm fine." He struggled to his feet. "I just need—" He crumpled to the floor.

"Damn it, man!" McCoy shouted at Sarek. "Stop thinking about his mother!"

Sarek's mouth tightened, and Sybok ceased writhing in pain. McCoy helped him into a chair. "Hello, father. Nurse Chapel."

"Dr. Chapel, actually," she smiled. "I'm the ambassador's personal physician."

"Good for you." He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, and gulped it down.

"You should sit," Sarek said, pulling a chair out for Chapel.

"Thank you." She tapped her nails on the table. "How is everyone?"

"Good. Good. Everything's... good."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

The next three minutes passed in awkward silence as McCoy glared angrily at Sarek, who was watching Chapel, who was smiling at Sybok, who was doing his best to escape making eye contact with anyone. T'Pring and Uhura moseyed in, taking the seats across from Sybok. Spock and M'Benga followed closely, sitting between the girls and Sarek.

"Father," Spock nodded.

"Spock."

"I believe you already know Dr. M'Benga."

"Yes. We became acquainted during his hearing."

Sybok winced. "Could we talk about happy memories? Disneyland? Chocolate? Sehlats?"

"How's Cecilia?" McCoy asked helpfully.

"She's good," M'Benga answered. "She stopped trying to eat the couch. And Julius."

"She finds great amusement in the laser pointer you recommended," Spock said.

"Who's Cecilia?" Chapel asked.

"Our sehlat," answered M'Benga.

"I take your shared ownership of a companion animal to mean that you are cohabiting the same quarters," Sarek said in a low, dangerous voice.

"Yeah." He extended his index and middle fingers, which were kissed by Spock's.

"You are bonded. You dare take, without the clan's permission, our only son?"

"Only son?" McCoy snarled. "You have another—"

"Please excuse my tardiness," the executor said, walking briskly into the room. "The recent attacks have made public transportation unreliable." The executor glanced at his PADD. "All are present and accounted for." He pressed a button on his PADD, and a hologram of T'Pau appeared, hovering over the middle of the table.

"Being of sound mind and body, I record my last will and testament. To my son Sarek, I leave my real estate holdings. To my grandson Sybok, I leave my shuttlecraft and hovercar. To my grandson Spock, I leave my musical instruments and sheet music. To my former lover T'Pring, I leave all of my remaining possessions and titles. Live long and prosper."

The executor turned off the hologram. "That is all. Peace and long life." He exited, leaving a room of stunned Vulcans in his wake.

"This..." Sybok said. "Wow."

"The people will not accept it," Sarek stated.

"Little care I," T'Pring whispered.

"Could somebody please explain what the hell is going on?" McCoy demanded.

"T'Pring just became the most powerful Vulcan alive," Sybok laughed.

"What? How?" Uhura asked.

"Ambassador T'Pau willed T'Pring her titles, including matriarch of our clan and the House of Surak, the most influential in the galaxy," Spock explained.

"This will not stand," Sarek said. "She is not kin."

Spock smirked. "I believe you will find T'Pring to be a little more than kin and less than kind."

"We've taken her as our sister."

"That does not grant her the right of ascension, which is guaranteed to my mate first."

"But you don't have a mate, so it's a moot—What? Oh!" Sybok pointed at Chapel. "You? Her? That's... She's younger than me."

"She once propositioned me for sex," Spock added.

"Regardless of her age and past indiscretions, Christine is the true matriarch."

"Wait, do I have a choice in this, because last time I checked, I was a doctor, not a matriarch. T'Pring can have it, if she wants it."

"The people will not tolerate a T'Pelih as the heir to Surak."

"And a Human heir would go over so well," Uhura snarked.

"There is no discussion," T'Pring said with frightening authority. "The title of matriarch is proprietary, and I am the rightful owner. T'Pau's reasons for willing it to me may be suspect—she may have thought that my ascension would assure a marriage to Sarek and subsequently the satisfaction of our familial contract. Spock, record this: As the matriarch of the Clan Pir and the sole member of the Clan Vhin, I, Lt. T'Pring Uhura, daughter of T'Zi, of Raal, hereby nullify the contractual obligation for a marriage between one Pir son and one Vhin daughter every forty years. End recording." She rose from her chair. "If there is no further business, I must return to the Enterprise. I will contact you when you are needed." T'Pring left the room with a swirl of her robe and without a glance back.

Uhura followed after her, stopping at the door to give a goofy smile. "Yeah, she's with me."

"This will not end well," Sarek foretold. "Our clan has worked carefully to ensure that the heir to Surak is not a target for political extremists. Her ascension places the katric ark itself at risk. I need not tell either of you that many Vulcans would rather it be smashed to pieces than hold the katra of a T'Pelih."

"She could just not put it in there," Sybok said.

If he wasn't Vulcan, Sarek would have rolled his eyes. "By accepting the role of matriarch of the clan Pir and the House of Surak, T'Pring is now legally obligated to place her katra in the ark for the benefit of future generations."

"You're sayin' she literally sold her soul for that gig?" McCoy asked incredulously.

"She didn't know," Sybok said, panic rising in his chest. "What if she resigns, passes it on to someone else?"

"It would not matter. For however brief a time, T'Pring was matriarch."

–

"Hi. I'm Commander Fwi'gi'ha, and this is your Beta Quadrant Minute. The Vulcan High Council has recently released a statement on Friday's attacks."

"It is the consensus of the Vulcan High Council that the recent terrorist attacks were planned and perpetrated by T'Pelih separatists residing in the tropics."

"Chilling stuff. In other Vulcan related news, Starfleet's own Lt. T'Pring has been officially named the matriarch of the Clan Pir and the House of Surak. No worries, she intends on finishing her tour on the Enterprise, and will evaluate her options at the end of their five year mission. Good luck, Lt. T'Pring."

–

"Hello? Sybok?" Uhura called, crawling into the Vulcan's newly inherited shuttlecraft. "You here?"

"Shh." He stepped out from the cockpit. "I'm glad you came."

"I am the first to show—"

"Hello!" Cupcake bellowed, stepping into the craft. "Anybody—Hey. Why's it so dark in here?"

"What is that?" Sybok pointed to Cupcake's chest.

"It's a baby bjorn."

"I know. Why is there a baby in it?"

"Jim has diplomatic ish to do."

"Couldn't you get a sitter?"

"I could, but I don't see why he can't come along."

"We're going to steal a priceless Vulcan relic. That's not something you can bring an infant to."

"Dude, you do not have a right to childfree spaces. David is very excited about this, okay? I even replicated him a ski mask. Look." Cupcake pulled a tiny black balaclava out of his pocket.

Sybok sighed. "Fine. He can come with, but only because that is quite possibly the cutest thing ever."

"How are we going to pull this off?" Uhura asked.

"Cupcake, you got the specs?"

"Yeah."

 _Step one: break into the Council Hall._

Sybok stared at the lock, going through every combination of joints and hinges he knew. Finally, it popped open.

"There's a button," Cupcake said, pointing to small blue square by the door with a sketch of a wheelchair on it.

 _Step two: disable cameras._

Cupcake handed Sybok a pair of earplugs. "Put those in." He flipped a switch on her comm unit... and nothing happened.

"Did it work?" Uhura asked.

He pulled a piece of broken glass from his pocket. "Yeah. All the camera lenses in the building should be shattered now. You can take those out."

 _Step three: feed David._

"There you go, buddy. You little piggy."

 _Step four: take turbolift to restricted floor eight._

"Vocal signature required."

"T'Pol," Uhura mimicked perfectly.

"Access granted."

 _Step five: take katric ark and run like hell back to the shuttlecraft._

"I—can't—believe—we—got—away—with—it," Cupcake gasped, closing the shuttle doors.

 _Step six: liberate katra._

"Hi," Joanna waved. "You brought friends."

"Yeah, this is Surak, that's T'Pel, this is my mother, this is—"

"I know who they are. I'm omni-sy-ent."

 _Step seven: destroy ark._

"Couldn't they just make another one?" Cupcake asked, after blasting the ark into non-existence or anti-existence or whatever with his phaser set to kill.

"No. They were crafted by the ancients with crystals found only on Vulcan," Uhura answered. "This is the last one."

"T'Pring's katra is safe now. It'll go to Sha-ka-ree with the rest of us."

–

"Hi. I'm Commander Fwi'gi'ha, and this is your Beta Quadrant Minute. More bad news out of the Vulcan colony today. A priceless artifact was stolen last night from the Council Hall. The burglars left no fingerprints or DNA, and destroyed the security cameras, but still managed to leave a message about their identity. A PADD was found on the stand that formerly held the artifact, contained within was a twenty-thousand word manifesto on the racial inferiority of T'Pelih Vulcans. This heist appears to be in responsive to the terrorist attacks of last week and the appointment of Lt. T'Pring, who is half-T'Pelih, to the position of matriarch of the species' most prominent and powerful family."


	15. Chapter 13: Biopolitics

"Hi. I'm Commander Fwi'gi'ha, and this is your Beta Quadrant Minute. Ek'tra has implemented the Species Survival Act, a piece of legislation the Vulcan High Council and the Vulcan Science Academy assures us will result in the rapid re-growth of a healthy Vulcan species."

–

Spock scanned through the PADD. Family history of...? No. Male pattern...? No. Hybrids. "Due to overwhelming demand and limited resources," he read, "hybrids will not be served by the Repopulation Bureau."

//What's wrong?//

//The new legislation ensures that I will never have Vulcan children.//

–

"Persons with a family history of H'Kara's disease, Raal fever, and L'liknei syndrome will not be served by the Repopulation Bureau." T'Pring took a deep, measured breathe.

"That is brilliant. 'No, no, we accept Black people. It's people with a family history of Sickle Cell anemia and hypertension we reject.'

–

"Here it is. 'Political dissidents and those excommunicated from the Surakian order will not be served by the Repopulation Bureau.' Motherfucker." Sybok threw down the PADD. "Ninety-four percent of all Vulcans require medical assistance for conception. The only people getting that help now are those the yahoos at the High Council consider fit to breed. This is what happens when you divorce emotion from logic. You get a nice, logical eugenics program."

–

The heart monitor next to Khan's bed beeped slowly but steadily. A heart rate like that would kill a normal Human, but Khan was no normal Human. He was an Augment, an ubermensch, superman. Never was sick a day in his life—his former life back in the twentieth century, back before he and his followers froze themselves and escaped on small vessel. Never sick—a good thing back then. Now, it left him and his acolytes without immunities in a galaxy of increasingly powerful microbes, evolving daily to fight the newest medical treatments.

That plaque over McCoy's door was true; space _is_ disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence. And twentieth century supermen were no match.

That's why Geoff was here. To watch them die. To put them out their misery when they finally gave in. McCoy was yanked off the case as soon as things headed south. Geoff wouldn't know why if he wasn't his physician. Family history: father: pyrrhoneuritis. Died at home five weeks before Indira Chan found the cure. Daughter: xenopolycythemia. Died in hospital three months before Geoffrey M'Benga found the cure. If he'd been faster, smarter, worked harder... Maybe he wouldn't be the only doctor on alpha shift to euthanize patients.

Of course, even then, Geoff would the one called in. He was the expert. That's why his monthly malpractice insurance premium could feed a small planet.

The problem that he had with being a research geneticist was that he got too attached to his test subjects. Or patients, as the rest of the galaxy would call them. Out of hundreds of Vulcans cured by his Bendii gene therapy, seven were too far gone for it to matter. They begged, screamed, cried for a death they couldn't give themselves because their mental control was so damaged. All had living wills, as was logical, and all stated that, if they lost all emotional control—which they had by then—they were to be euthanized. So Geoff followed the rules and gave them a painless death.

He was brought in front of an endless slew of panels. Did he know how few Vulcans survived? Was aware of how precious our Elders were to us? What gave him the right take them away? He was a doctor, he said. He made an oath to do no harm. It would have been greater harm to allow the Elders to live for years in such isolation and pain.

The High Council was lenient, he supposed. They could have kicked him off the planet entirely—what the locals referred to as being "Sybok'd"—but they elected to create a kind of restraining order that restricting him from being in so many feet of a medical facility on Ek'tra. He was about to skulk back to the commune, tail between his legs, when Pike called.

That lead him here. Standing over a brutal dictator's bed, draining fluid from his lungs. The others—this man's followers—had given in weeks ago—some dying from disease and others from euthanasia—but Khan held on, confident that his superior genetics would kick in any day now and bring him back to full, robust health.

"How's our patient?" Marla, the ship's historian asked from the doorway.

"Same as yesterday. Slowing marching to the grave. Could you talk to him? Try to make him reconsider?"

"I can, but he won't give in. He wasn't bred for that."

–

"Are you fucking kidding me, Kirk?" Sybok stomped into the transporter room. "I pulled you from this mission. Jesus Christ, Riley? Get the fuck off that pad. Both of you. Need I remind you that, when I ask you to do something, I am extending a fucking courtesy. Don't make me count to ten. One, two, three, four... Good boys."

–

The planet was a sea of dead bodies. Maybe not a sea so much as a forest, where the trees have all been felled by greedy loggers. Keenser hated Human metaphors. Corpses, lots of them, in all different species: Klingons, Romulans, Andorians, Vulcans, and other tall Humanoid peoples. Not a one of Keenser's species. No, because Keenser's people never exiled anyone, so no one ever had to move to one of these disgusting planets with icky weather and oversized persons.

But, wait, what was that in the distance? Small people—two of them—writhing on the ground. Two persons—smaller than Keenser—and alive. The sole survivors of a biochemical attack. And they were small. There is something to be said about a lack of height.

–

"Vulcan-Romulan hybrid," M'Benga spoke into his tricorder, which was, by the by, very difficult when wearing a hazmat suit. "Female. Approximately three months of age. Good health. Slight malnourishment and diaper rash." He moved on to the other one. "Vulcan-Klingon hybrid. Female. Approximately two months of age. Good health. Also with slight malnourishment and diaper rash. Both subjects carry the Ninvari Virus, but are asymptomatic."

–

"I was not aware there were others," Spock said, standing in the infants' quarantine room, rocking their bassinets with gloved hands

"Hellguard was unknown to the Federation before we found it," Geoff explained, taking his hazmat suit off in the clean. "But someone knew people were living there, and what kind of people. The virus is crafted to affect the species found on Hellguard. We've exposed rat, cat, monkey, tribble, and they're fine. This was a deliberate effort to wipe out that planet's—" The Enterprise came to rapid and calamitous stop, almost like a car colliding with a tree. "Spock!" Geoff called, struggling to his feet. "Are you—oh god."

Spock's nigh indestructible hazmat suit had ripped in the collision.

–

"Keptin, I think ve hit something," Chekov said, applying pressure to a gash on his forehead.

"No, shit, Sherlock." Kirk flipped on his chair's comm unit. "Kirk to Spock. Me, you, and Bones are beaming over in five."

"That may prove difficult, captain. I have been infected."

–

The vessel was small, but big enough to house a warp core, a cloaking device, and a fulling operational bio-terrorism lab.

"Why?" Kirk growled, pushing the ship's captain into a bulkhead. Hir crew watched in silence, their feelers clicking in fear every few seconds. "Why, goddamn it?"

"We—we needed the money," the captain squeaked.

"Who's paying you? The Klingons? The Romulans?"

"No one. We had a plan, you see. We created a virus that would make an entire planet sick, and then we would sell them the cure. But the virus worked too quickly. Everyone was dead within minutes."

"Do you have the cure?" McCoy asked.

"No, we—that was too large of an investment to make, when we did not know for certain if the virus would work. We planned to create the virus after the afflicted made a down payment."

"You would hold an entire planet hostage for a few credits?" Kirk spat.

"No, not credits. Latinum. Our Ferengi usurers will accept no other method of payment."

Kirk released the other captain. "I need you to find that cure, Bones. We have six hours before Spock breaks out of quarantine, and infects the rest of the crew."

–

Seventy-eight hours later.

"Who is a good female child?" Spock asked the babies in the same voice he would use on the bridge. "Is it Saavik? Is it Valeris?" Uhura found the children's name two days ago in the Hellguard computer network. "Perhaps it is both Saavik and Valeris. Good female children of your ages drink their bottles. Do you not aspire to be a good female child? It is possible you aspire to be a good male child, or a good child elsewhere on the gender spectrum. Regardless of gender identity, all good children drink their bottles." He yawned. "Please drink your bottles. Your caregiver has not slept since taking you as his charges. He has done nothing but care for you in the last seventy-eight hours. It would please him greatly if you drank your bottles. If you will not drink your bottles, caregiver's Human will be forced to insert feeding tubes in your noses. You would not enjoy that experience. Drink your bottles."  
Still, Saavik and Valeris resisted, turning their heads away from the proffered formula. "You are hungry. I can feel your hunger. Why do you refuse nourishment?" He rubbed their cheeks. "I understand." He took off his shirt. "Perhaps this will refresh your memory."

–

Cupcake flipped from rec deck four, the galley, sickbay, rec de—wait a second. Was Spock...?

His flipped open his comm. "Cupcake to McCoy."

"McCoy here."

"You might want to check on Spock and the girls."

–

By lunch hour, a small crowd had outside of the quarantine chambers, making the room look less like a hospital and more like a side show.

"Fuckin' A," Sulu whispered.

"They are wery hungry babies."

"Where is the milk coming from?" Riley wondered.

A loud whistle emanated from the back of the room. "If y'all ain't plannin' to donate blood or get a colonoscopy, get the fuck out of my sickbay."

The room cleared, leaving only the relevant personal and Keenser, who, as it happened, was there to donate blood. Of course, this isn't as selfless as it sounds, any blood zie donated would only be pumped back into hir body at a later date.

"Yo lo tengo," M'Benga shouted, coming out of his lab for the first time in three days. "It was simple. I just had to manipulate the DNA of the—Am I hallucinating, or is Spock nursing a baby in there?"

–

"Are you an idiot?" Sybok asked, barging onto the bridge. "What ever could have possessed—You're their mother, now, Spock. Whether you want them or are able to keep them, you are their mother. You stupid, stupid boy."

–

"No one wants them," Spock said, standing over the babies' cribs in sickbay. "No planet will claim them. Not even Earth."

"Do you want them?" Geoff asked.

"What I want is unclear. I cannot ascertain how many of my wishes are biological or katric."

"Spock, what your body—male lactation has happened before in Humans in circumstances similar to your own. Wanting to adopt them doesn't make you a freak. I mean, they're the only other Vulcan hybrids in the universe. If there's anyone who should be raising them, it's you."

"And you?"

"Yeah. Por supuesto."

–

The flatline never sounded so good. "Finally."

"Hey," Sybok said. "I hear there's a package needed to be delivered to the here after?"

"Yeah. He cashed out a little bit ago."

"It's late."

M'Benga yawned. "Yeah."

"You should go home. I can take care of this."

Geoff smiled, walking away from the end of life to the start of two others, knowing that even he would never want genetic perfection.


	16. Chapter 14: The Tipping Point

The Uhura cabin had, in recent months, turned into command central for T'Pring's matriarchy. Gone were the antique theatre posters, replaced with a series of chronometers—one for Ek'tra City, another for San Francisco, Paris, Romulus' capital, the judicial seat of the Klingon Empire, and several more for places that cannot be written in the Roman alphabet. It wasn't unusual for T'Pring to receive vidcalls during shift, while eating dinner, mid-coitus... Some she took, some she screened. On one memorable taco night, T'Pring informed the Terran president that he would have to call her back tomorrow. And, wouldn't you know it, he did. Government officials of the alpha and beta quadrants became accustomed to being put on hold while the matriarch finished soldering access panels.

There was, however, one group whose calls she always took.

"Greetings, T'Pring." The video crackled, coming in and out, making the woman's dark features distorted.

"Salutations, T'Fe. How may I be of service?"

"I do not have much time. Tomorrow, the T'Pelih settlement will be cordoned off, under the auspice that it is a different colony than Ek'tra and the surrounding territories belong to Ek'tra. No T'Pelih can leave the settlement without a visa granted by the Vulcan High Council. The Council will be in recess until next year. There have been rumors of the creation of a border guard that will inspect and approve all parcels crossing the border. I must go, lest the communications board detects this call."

"Thank you for the information. Live long and prosper."

"Peace and long—" The call was dropped.

T'Pring frowned minutely, glancing at the Paris chronometer. "Ashaya, I need to speak to our old friend the scientist."

"Patching you through, now," Uhura said from her comm console next to their sofa. "Hopefully he's wearing pants this time."

Elder Spock's (thankfully clothed) form was projected onto the starboard wall. "T'Pring."

"Ambassador."

"To what do I owe this communique?"

"It is time that you fulfill your familial responsibilities. I require an uninhabited planet in or near Federation space with a diverse ecology that could accommodate several species of sentient life."

"You are aware that I decided to remove myself from major political activities, for my own health as much as the health of the timeline."

"That time is over. As the aphorism states, one cannot afford to be neutral on a moving train."

"I am at a crucial point in my work."

"Take it with you. I'm certain you will find this mission to be inspiring. Your Humans may accompany you, if they wish. Their experience in communal living may prove to be useful. Comm me with your findings. Peace and long life."

"Live long and prosper."

–

Spock and Geoff watched in silent wonder as Saavik and Valeris slept.

"We can't raise them here," the doctor said.

"Starfleet has grown far more accommodating—"

"We can't keep fighting and killing Romulans and Klingons, and come home and tell them bedtime stories about how we're making the galaxy a better place."

"Are you suggesting we leave Starfleet?"

"Yeah. I don't know where we'd live, but it can't be here."

–

Sybok could vaguely feel his head touch the ceiling, as he lead Lt. Abernathy into Sha-ka-ree. "This is Joanna. She'll show you around." Once the not-so-little girl and the dearly departed went off hand in hand, Sybok turned to leave, only to find someone standing in his way.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving. What are you doing? I didn't think you could come over here."

"And I did not think you could come back here."

"I'm special."

"It stands to reason I am as well."

"No, you—you are a—a bad man with delusions grandeur and an ugly beard."

"It is far better to have delusions of grandeur than of mediocrity. You are the most powerful Vulcan since the Enlightenment, but you waste your talent on parlor tricks and tantric sex."

"Have you been _watching_ me?"

"Yes. I've watched as you've done nothing to aid Mr. Scott. You are the only person on that ship who can ease his pain, but you choose not to."

"I'm not you. I can't go around brainwashing people. I don't have that—"

"You are the last Vulcan Master. The training of the next generation of telepaths falls on your shoulders. Stop playing assimilationist and take your rightful place."

–

"You can't both leave," Kirk squeaked. "Please, stay until the end of the mission."

"Captain. Jim," Spock said fondly. "Our futures await us."

"Bones, please."

"Kid, first time we met I said Jocelyn took the whole planet in the divorce, now Sybok's gettin' me a new one. There's no reason for me stay in Starfleet."

"What about friendship? We're supposed to have this epic, life-defining bromance and you're just pissing it all away."

"First, don't ever call this a bromance again. Second, the new colony's thirty lightyears from Earth. You could drive there."

"I know... I don't think I can be captain without you. I'll screw it up. I know I will. Without you guys, I'm just some hick from Iowa. But together, we're something."

"Jim, you are a capable captain." Spock touched the captain's shoulder lightly. "Without Dr. McCoy and myself, perhaps you will come to believe in yourself."

"I... I got something in my eye."

–

Sarek was less than impressed by the new planet. It was far too humid. Christine argued that a little moisture in the air beat being unable to leave one's home without having one's wife and newborn child being called an abomination and a waste of Vulcan sperm. True, but he is not certain he would take seeing an alternate geriatric version of his son having intercourse with said son's husband's parents over his home being firebombed.

He felt history here, as illogical as that sounds. His sons, who both spoke to him with less and less derision, and his two new daughters were crafting a new best of all possible worlds for their families—however nebulous that term may be.


End file.
